

I 




% 




V 


l 


x 


i 


i 


1 


r 


t 


X 




► 



Latter Day Saint 



Mrs. ALFRED ALMOND McKAY 

( > 


“ One in whom persuasion and belief 
Had ripened into faith, and faith become 
A passionate intuition."' 



FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 
NEW York Chicago Toronto 

Publishers of Evayigelical Literature 
\ \ 


Copyright 1893 

BY 

MRS. ALFRED ALMOND McKAY. 


taxfon 

^^73 Macdougal Street, New York 


/ 


TO MY BELOVED SISTER, 

Mrs. ELIZABETH FRANCES PERRY, 

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK, 

AND 

I SEND IT FORTH IN THE NAME OF 
HIM WHOSE NAME 


IS ABOVE EVERY OTHER NAME 






















TO THE EEADEE. 


T ask yon to sit awhile with me. I have a story to tell 
which may, or may not, he true. I do not think I 
shall bore yon. There is sufficient of love, and pain, 
and bliss in it all to prevent that. But if, after yon have 
gotten half-way into my story, you should begin to feel that 
the man, St. John Angelan, is an ideal Christian, I beg 
you, earnestly, to search the book which tells of his Master, 
and judge you by it whether, if this be an ideal Christian, 
there be any real follower of the Man, Christ Jesus, in our 
day and generation. 


The Author. 


( • > 



OONTEl^TS. 




PAGE 

Chapter I., 9 

Chapter II., 53 

Chapter III., 69 

Chapter IV., 79 

Chapter V., 94 

Chapter VI., 106 

Chapter VII., 115 

Chapter VIII., 129 


PAET SECOND. 

Chapter IX., 141 

Chapter X., 149 

Chapter XI., 172 

Chapter XII., 185 

Chapter XIII., 198 

Chapter XIV., 206 

Chapter XV., 210 

Chapter XVI., 222 

Chapter XVII., 232 

Chapter XVIII., 245 

Chapter XIX., 259 

Chapter XX., 265 

Chapter XXI., 272 

Conclusion, 277 


He that hath my commandments and keepeth them^ he 
it is that loveth me^ and he that loveth me shall le loved of 
my Father^ and I will love him^ and will manifest myself 
to him .'* — Words of the Master in St. John. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


CHAPTEE I. 

D E. ANGELAN’S work had been arduous for weeks. 
Many of the inmates were ill, and several had died. 
Dr. Swayne, the assistant, had seemed dull and 
inert; indeed, as if some deep trouble had got hold upon 
and taken all the buoyancy out of him. If St. John An- 
golan had not been a man of sturdy body and soul he would 
have faltered under his load. But the man, St. John An- 
golan, body and soul, seemed to have attained a certain 
degree, almost of perfection in manhood. As his body was 
sustained and strengthened by simple yet strict adherence 
to the laws of nature — temperance in diet and drink, action 
of muscle and limb, and, whenever possible, a necessary in- 
dulgence in that sweet invigorative rest, sleep ; so his soul 
was sustained and strengthened by simple, yet strict, adher- 
ence to the laws of Christ. 

Teddy had just come in and said to him: “Faith — ond 
— Misther Ongelan, Misthress Mathers has sint me to let 
ye knowe thot theere’s onither wan bee-low — ond — ond — 
she’s verry bod indade. Ond wad ye cam doown amadi- 
ately, sor?” 

And he had stopped for a moment to steady himself, 
resting his hand heavily on the table beside the chair from 
which he had just risen. As the angels came and went on 

9 


10 


A LATTER LAY SAINT, 


tlie beautiful ladder that touched earth and reached into 
heaven, so our prayers come and go. 

Teddy saw, as he often did, when he watched the coun- 
tenance of this best of friends that a poor, weak Irish vaga- 
bond ever had, a beautiful light come into the beloved 
face, and the heart leaped in his bosom, and left him with 
a great longing to quit his ungodly ways. Dr. Angelan 
turned to Teddy and asked, 

“ Teddy, is it a new one, or one of the old ones grown 
worse?” As he asked the question. Dr. Angelan’s eyes 
fastened themselves on the homely, yearning face. 

A. new wan, shure, sor,” his voice was husky under the 
steady gaze. 

“ Teddy, I am very fond of you.” Teddy loved the very 
sound of Dr. Angolan’s voice, and there was a cadence in 
it now that quite broke his heart. His conscience smote 
him, and he answered, almost blubbering: 

“ Och, ond beghorra, Oi wad hev to be dead intirely — 
ond hurried — ond — ond — in me grave — ond deaf, ond 
doomb, ond bloind, av Oi didn’t bee-lave thot.” 

Instantly the conscience-stricken Teddy had remembered 
what Kitty, the maid, had so scornfully told him last night 
of anither scrape” he had gotten into, and how Dr. An- 
gelan had walked up to the policeman, and said, ‘^I will 
take charge of this man,” just as that officer ‘‘was about to 
take ye awaye, ye droonken looen!” This with a toss of 
her pretty head, and the thought of this toss and expres- 
sion added deeper poignancy to his grief. And further 
still, the conscience-stricken Teddy remembered how, 
when he awoke from his drunken slumber, he was lying on 
his own comfortable cot in Dr. Angolan’s apartments, and 
when he began to wonder how it all was, and to feel his 
head bursting, Dr. Angelan, who was resting quietly in his 
chair, had looked up and said sternly, but kindly: 


A LATTER LAY SAINT, 


11 


“ Teddy, I found you drunk. It is very wicked to be 
drunk; wicked to yourself, wicked before God, and un- 
grateful to me, your friend.” 

It all came back to Teddy as he stood there with his 
little watery blue eyes gazing up, helplessly, in the clear, 
tender ones, beaming so pitifully upon him. 

Dr. Angelan simply said, as he turned and left the room: 

“ Teddy, my man, remember what I told you last night,” 
but he left behind him strength for this fellow-man for a 
season. 

As Dr. Angelan entered the parlors, a faint, sweet odor 
as of crushed violets, seemed to be in the air of the room, 
and, standing at the window with the warm sunlight on 
her, was a tall, majestic-looking creature, in a rich recep- 
tion dress of pale amber satin, whose glittering train swept 
the floor. 

A magnificent diamond blazed where the creamy lace 
was caught at the swan-like throat. Her head was bare 
and her hair was like a wonderful web of gold; it hung in 
wild and tangled disorder about her shoulders and almost 
to the rich train that lay upon the floor. Her whole figure 
seemed to emit a dazzling light. She looked like a rare 
impersonation of the sunshine in which she was flooded. 

Mrs. Mathers said, pointing to her hair : 

‘^How will we ever cut that?” 

It was so beautiful and nature had adorned her with it, 
that it must not be sacrificed if possible ; so he answered : 

We will save it, I think.” It was a weakness with St. 
John Angelan to spare a woman’s hair — his Bible told him 
it was given to her for a covering, and that ‘^it was a 
glory unto her,” and he felt it a pardonable weakness. 
Then he added, almost reverently: 

“Yes, we will save it, if possible.” 

His voice had scarcely struck on her ear, before the wo- 


12 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


man at the western window turned on him with the quick 
movement of one who has heard a sound which arrests the 
attention. But she gazed into his eyes with the look of a 
hunted, haunted thing. 

Advancing slowly she came immediately in front of him, 
and with eyes still fixed in his, which were riveted on her 
face, stood for a moment thus. Again advancing slowly, 
as if drawn forward, she came still closer, and laid her 
hand upon his breast : 

Her face had grown softly radiant, and she cried out as 
in joyous recognition : 

My lover! my lover!’' 

Her voice was liquid soft, but high and sweet, and she 
was the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever rested upon 
in human flesh. 

She stood for a moment thus — her hand lying lightly on 
his breast, her perfumed breath in his face, her eyes almost 
dazzling him. 

Then she said rapturously : 

You have come to rescue me at last ! Let me tell you," 
and her rich voice sank almost into a whisper, “the words 
are in my brain — they leaped like fire into my brain. 
‘Pride ‘goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit be- 
fore a fair — ah! save me from that destruction!" The 
voice pierced the ears of the two as the shrill whisper rose 
almost to a shriek: “All, all gone! ‘Pride goeth before 
destruction and a haughty spirit’ — ah, save me from the 
fall! All — all gone! How was it?" Her breathing was 
labored. “When was it?" She seemed trying to recall a 
memory. Then, she muttered between her teeth. Again, 
she cried out : 

“ I could not — ah, God, I could not!" 

The thrilling pathos of her tones, the helpless, hopeless 
agony of her face— the wildly beautiful face— the hand 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


13 


lying heavily, now, upon his breast — all, seemed to hold him 
as if by a spell. He stood motionless and speechless, and 
Mrs. Mathers did not wonder that St. John Angelan was 
for once laggard in his duty, did not wonder that for the 
time he seemed to forget that he was physician, and this 
his patient. 

The girl reiterated, thrillingly : 

“Ah, no, I could not! I would have died first. Died!’' 
here her face lighted up grandly, and her voice went into 
a soft whisper — “yes, to die for them would be sweet! 
But — to live — with him ! ” Something seemed to rise 
before her; her voice was high again with pain and 
anguish ; her hand dropped from his breast, and she lifted 
her superb form to its fullest height, and with the air of a 
duchess exclaimed : 

“Touch me not! Your very touch sends madness!” 

Then turning aside as if to elude some hated contact, 
she began to walk up and down the long apartment, her 
beautiful arms strained upward, her hands clasped. 

Dr. Angolan’s eyes, fascinated, followed her every move- 
ment as, like some bird of tropical plumage, she carried the 
light in her restless wake, and his ear was strained to catch 
every word of the muttered soliloquy. 

“ Do you not see the stain of your breath upon my cheek? 
That is the stamp of my perjury — your lips touched me 
there, when I promised — your gold bought the promise — 
you know it, coward. Ha! you know my weakness!” 

Here there was utmost loathing and contempt in her 
tones, and they rose higher as she continued : 

“ They swear at the altar to ‘love, honor, and obey; ’ how 
could my lips utter the vow when I loathe you so! Your 
breath is noxious — poisonous ! It entered into me then — 
this fire in my veins, when you touched my face with that 
kiss, and I could have killed you then. ” She laughed scorn- 


14 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


fully, and stood as if confronting some hated presence, her 
brow corrugated, her eyes aflame, and her mouth panting. 

“ And you know it ! Oh, you pinioned my arms behind 
me and called loudly for help — coward! Ha! ha! ha!’’ 

Her laugh tortured the ear, and the tones in which she 
uttered her last words were a concentration of the bitterest 
contempt and hatred. 

Mrs. Mathers said to Dr. Angolan, who still stood as if 
rooted to the spot, all unlike himself, gazing with a strange 
intentness on the dazzling creature, who had thrown her- 
self into a large crimson chair, and in golden lines of grace, 
and veil of glistening hair, and shell-like tintings of flesh, 
and dusky blackness of eyes, made a wonderful picture — 
Mrs. Mathers said, and she had to touch him on the arm 
before the charm seemed broken : 

‘^She is more quiet now.” She continued in an under- 
tone; “ She was terrible when she first came, and while her 
mother and the little boy were in the room, but when I 
sent them out she got calmer. You will find them in my 
sitting-room.” 

Dr. Angelan went out and sent strong young Kitty 
McNamarra in with Mrs. Mathers. He then proceeded to 
the apartments beyond. 

There he found a handsome, stately, but frail-looking 
woman of forty-five, with soft flaxen curls and delicate, 
aristocratic features, which now wore a look of well-mas- 
tered anguish. There was also a beautiful child in rich 
velvet, with the same creamy fairness of skin, the same 
burnished curls, and the same wonderful, deep, dark eyes 
as had struck him in the woman he had just left. 

Dr. Angelan walked straight up to them, and while he 
introduced himself to the mother, his hand, that mesmeric 
touch, fell on the child’s head in such a way that both 
mother and child began to sob. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


15 


“ My dear madam, let me assure yon, I feel for you, and 
will promise, in Christ’s name, to do all in my power for 
your daughter/' 

Where had her world-weary ear ever heard such words 
before? “ In Christ’s name” — there seemed to be strength 
in the very words, or was it in the clear, rich tones, or 
was it in the deep note of human sympathy that thrilled 
her heart? 

The delicate lace handkerchief was already saturated 
with tears; she leaned over and took the little filmy thing 
that was peeping from the boy’s velvet pocket, and dried 
her eyes. Then she looked for a moment into St. John 
Angolan’s face. The whole presence of the man seemed a 
great stay to her. She uttered, rising and extending her 
hand and grasping his earnestly : 

‘^Dr. Angelan, I feel comforted in you,” then added in 
her exquisitely modulated tones : 

I thought it would be so hard to tell her story to an 
utter stranger, even though he was to be her physician, 
but I find it easy, and am sure it will lighten my poor 
burdened heart.” 

After a moment or two she commanded herself, and con- 
tinued steadily, though her fine voice was full of emotion 
and her delicate features tense with the effort at self-con- 
trol: 

“ Of course, it is necessary that you should know just 
what brought this upon her — my proud, beautiful daugh- 
ter.” Here anguished tears rolled down her cheeks again, 
and the little boy’s great, awe-stricken eyes filled, and he 
began rubbing them with his chubby little hands. Dr. 
Angelan, softly stroking the fair curls of the child, asked 
with infinite concern : 

“ How long has this been, dear madam?” His tones were 
so soothing she was calm again, and answered; 


1C 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


‘^Not over a week.” 

“Have you ever before in her life had any evidence of 
this weakness?” 

“Not in the least,” she answered, “not in the least de- 
gree,” her high-bred tones raised a little higher, as if re- 
pudiating the idea; “ my daughter is of a haughty temper, 
and sometimes speaks and acts in an imperious way, for 
which, when she finds she has wounded, she is as penitent 
as a little child. Aside from that, her whole nature has 
always been lovely.” The “lovely” from the mother’s lips 
spoke volumes to Dr. Angolan’s senses. “ She has one excess 
in nature, though.” Dr. Angelan noted the wording of 
this mother’s narration, and as he listened, he thought, 
“How she loves and respects this daughter!” 

“ Her love of the magnificent, the luxurious, amounts to 
a passion with her. It was born in her, I think, and has, 
by my manner of living, grown with her growth and 
strengthened with her strength. She loves grand old pic- 
tures, soft Turkey carpets, costly and exquisite articles of 
virtu ; and she loves rich and costly clothing, rare precious 
stones, rich old laces — ah, sir, I know this is not a common 
vanity,” and she looked in a high-bred, appealing way up 
into his face, as if to beseech him not to think so meanly 
of her idol. 

“ She loves the very feel of velvet and the shimmer of 
satin, but when she is robed in them she seems as uncon- 
scious of her grace and beauty as any tropical bird of its 
own natural plumage, or any exquisite flower of its stateli- 
ness and bloom.” 

The comparisons seemed so to suit that Dr. Angolan’s 
eyes lit in sympathy and appreciation, and the mother 
went on with deepened earnestness, and he noted that the 
finely cut features were drawn with a look of intense pain 
and — it seemed to him — shame, and her gloved hand went 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


17 


to her left side with a sudden movement that made him 
ask in deep sympathetic tones : 

‘‘Are you suffering, madam?” 

“Yes, intensely,” she answered hurriedly, and her lips 
were very pale, “ but that does not matter. It is over 
now. I have them, sometimes — those sudden, excruciating 
clutches here,” pressing her hand on her heart. 

Then lifting her shoulders and resuming her stateliness 
she went on : 

“This love of the grand and the beautiful has led her 
into all the trouble — she could not resist it, at first; every- 
thing there is like a dream. You doubtless know of ‘Alger- 
non Place’? ” she asked, her lips trembling on the words. 

His face clouded perceptibly, but his eyes opened a little 
wider with acquiescent surprise as he bowed an affirmative. 

“ Its master is my daughter’s ” here she lowered her 

voice to a whisper, that the child might not hear. 

Dr. Angelan’s face clouded still more, and a look of pity 
came again into his eyes. 

“ And Pm doin’ to till him when I dets a big man,” said 
a stout little voice, and Dr. Angelan looked down to find 
the boy’s small fists doubled up, and his eyes flashing 
vengefully through his tears. 

“There, Eeggie, do not show your temper, dear,” for a 
moment interrupting herself in her regard for the child’s 
deportment. 

St. John Angelan sat down and took the little fellow on 
his lap, and drew the curly head soothingly to his breast; 
and he could feel the answering breast heave against his 
with its sobs. His arms gently tightened with that warm, 
firm hold which makes, even, a child know that one feels 
for its troubles. 

“Eleanor has taken a strange and unaccountable 

idea ” Then, as if suddenly recollecting herself, she 

2 


18 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


said with the deprecating smile (wan and sad on her pale 
lips) of a gentle-woman when she finds she has failed in 
courtesy : 

“ Excuse me, Dr. Angelan, but I am so absorbed in my 
grief I quite forget everything else. I have not yet intro- 
duced myself;’’ then with some pride she added, “Mrs. 
Eleanor Ward is my name, and I do not bring my daughter 
here because it is a charitable institution, but I have heard 
of your skill, and oh, sir, I will pour out money like water 
if you only restore my child to me, if you will only make 
her herself, once more!” 

Here Dr. Angelan felt the little fellow on his breast 
clutch him with all his might, and the sturdy little voice 
cried : 

“ 0, dood dotta, p’ease, sir, mate my s’eet Lonna well 
once mo’! I hab no dood tomwade now, an’ usses house 
is so bid an’ lonesome when mamma puts Lonna in her 
woom.” 

Dr. Angelan’s eyes, liquid and warm, gazed down into 
the quivering, beseeching little face. He asked a trifie 
huskily of the mother: 

“ What is your daughter’s idea?” 

Again he saw the movement of the gloved hand to the 
left side, but this time it was quickly withdrawn, and Mrs. 
Ward answered amid her sobs at the little boy’s lament: 

“ She imagines I have lost everything, and that she must 
hold to this marriage for our sakes, Reggie’s and mine. 
Oh ! she is a loyal and devoted creature, for all the wayward 
pride which made her too weak to resist this fabulously 
wealthy wooer.” She had lowered her voice again almost 
to a whisper, as if she did not wish the child to hear. “ I 
was opposed to her marrying Algernon Hastings” — the last 
words came hurriedly, and her eyes fell beneath the full, 
clear orbs regarding her so earnestly — “ because I did not 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


19 


like the man, and I knew my daughter did not love him. 
Although more than twenty, Eleanor has never loved.” 
Thinking perhaps she might be disclosing some unneces- 
sary family history, she colored slightly as she warmly as- 
sured him that she felt these things would be sacred with 
him, and she wanted him to know everything in order that 
he might have every advantage in dealing with her daugh- 
ter’s case. 

“ And, Dr. Angelan, I would like to supply my daughter 
with all of the luxuries in her apartments to which she has 
always been accustomed.” 

“ Pardon me for refusing you the privilege, my dear 
madam.” His voice was firm, yet sweet, and there was al- 
most a rebuke in his tones as he added : “ There is no dis- 

tinction of person here; the rich and the poor are treated 
alike — the most destitute and the most affluent are alike 
our Heavenly Father’s creatures,” and he began again 
stroking Eeggie’s golden fleece of hair. 

She seemed conscience-stricken, indeed. 

Oh, forgive me, dear sir; I often have faint glimpses of 
how intensely selfish all this lavishness on one person is ! I 
cannot become offended at your refusal — but how will it be 
with her? I thought perhaps it might worry and excite 
her, and retard her in her improvement, if in her lucid in- 
tervals — she has these often — she did not find about her 
what has hitherto seemed almost necessary to her very ex- 
istence.’' 

There was a mystical, far-away look in St. John Angolan’s 
eye, but he made no reply to this very logical explanation. 
He only said : 

“ If the patient is able, she supplies her own wearing ap- 
parel; if not, it is furnished her by the institution. You 
will be so kind as to send her clothing, at once; and, dear 
madam,” he added, deferentially, “ let them be the simplest 


20 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


and most comfortable ones she has. ” Still stroking Reggie’s 
hair, his clear, fine eyes again dwelt on the mother, and his 
deep, full tones seemed to penetrate the inmost recesses of 
her nature, as he again asked : 

“ You say your daughter is possessed with the idea that 
you are penniless?” 

Her eyes, once more, fell before the lucid orbs that were 
regarding her with their look of pity and concern. 

“ Strange to say,” she answered with a labored breathing 
that almost caught her words from her — “ strange to say, 
that is her predominant idea, when lucid, even more than 
when raving. Ah ! God, when she is raving she tears my 
heart out of me by refusing to let me come near her,” she 
continued a little wildly. “ I have done everything — every- 
thing, when she was lucid to convince her that we are just 
as we were before her trouble. And even to-day, I had a 
reception, such as I have always been accustomed to hold 
weekly, although my heart was not in it, and the gaud 
and the glare sickened me,” and her lips blanched again; 
‘‘ but to prove to her that nothing was changed I tried to 
go through with it. Some friends were there, and we 
brought her down. After a while Algernon Hastings en- 
tered. In an instant she was like a hunted wild thing, 
and we were scarcely able to manage her for hours. So we 
put her in a close carriage and brought her here. Reggie, 
our pet, was beside himself with grief and terror, and 
would not be pacified, so I had to bring him, too.” Then 
rising in her high-bred way, she said : 

“ My coachman is at the door, and I do not wish to keep 
you from my daughter. 0, doctor,” she cried with tearful 
entreaty, “restore my child!” 

“ So help me God, I will!” 

The fervent tones of his own voice, which struck on his 
car in the words that had come without any volition of 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


21 


his, touched something strange and deep in his soul, and 
the words, lover! my lover!” in joyously sweet ac- 
cents, seemed to mingle with them. A dizziness came over 
him ; his heart throbbed painfully. 

He leaned over; unconsciously, his hands interlocked 
themselves above the boy’s golden head, and he repeated 
almost beseechingly, “ So help me God, I will!” 

The child’s great eyes, turned wonderingly up into his 
face, brought him back to things that were passing. Mrs. 
Ward was standing, and with streaming eyes hung on his 
words. There was strength in them ; there was power in 
this man, outside of himself; there was power for him in 
the Name he had called upon — that, she had felt ever since 
she had been in his presence, and now, she was sure her 
daughter was safe in this man’s hands; her world-incrusted 
soul could take this in — must take it in; the interview 
with this meek, gently-speaking, right-minded, reverent 
man made her feel, for the time, that there is a higher 
power than man which must restore. 

He rose up, letting the boy slip to his feet; and holding 
him by the hand, walked with the mother to the door. 

“Doctor, when shall I see my daughter?” 

“ As with regard to all of the other rules, my dear Mrs. 
Ward, I am compelled to carry out this one, too;” then, 
with that soft depression of accent which made his firmest 
decrees seem bearable, “not until the patient is entirely 
able to see you without injury to herself.” 

“ It is hard,” but strength still came to her as she looked 
into the face whose every line the just setting sun brought 
out on the soft skin above the silky brown beard which 
almost hid the tender mouth; and she gazed into the holy 
blue eyes, saying fervently, “ but I can trust her to you.” 

He held her hand for a moment, and uttered in deep 
tones : 


22 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


“ God be with you.’’ 

And he reached into the velvet-lined, magnificently 
mounted carriage and kissed the little trembling mouth 
that Reggie was holding up for him. The little fellow 
broke down, and with sobs and arms about his neck cried 
out: 

“ 0 mamma, mamma, let me stay wis him, and wis my 
s’eet Lonna!” 

But the mother put him sternly back as if she felt what 
would, indeed, be the desolation of her home without them 
both, and the footman closed the door. 

Dr. Angelan had been through many scenes, but never 
just such an one as this before. It had a tendency to hurry 
his steps toward the room in which he had left the beauti- 
ful, but unfortunate Eleanor Ward. 

In a corridor, whose single window lighted up the two 
figures standing near it and brought them out into bold 
relief, stood the stout little, short-legged, long-waisted 
Teddy, with the slim, severe, scornfully irate Kitty tower- 
ing above him. He was looking into her face with his 
cunning little blue Irish eyes rolled lackadaisically up, and 
his head set languishingly sidewise, and he was saying in 
his most mellifluent tones: 

“Och! ond shure, Misthress Kitty, me darlint, av Oi 
didn’t bee-lave yer hearrut was as soft as the doon on me 
upper lip when Oi was a bye in me teens, it’s meself thot 
wad knowe it’s as harrud as the girrul’s that broke her own, 
so thot she c’u’d break the mon’s thot was sich a foole as 
to love her so.” 

Kitty gave a scornful toss, and a sniff in the air. “ 0, 
swate Misthress McNamarra, jist wan morsel av pity;” but 
the sweetly flowing notes were cut short by the strident 
ones of the irate maid. 

‘^Stond out av me waye, Teddy O’Brien! A dacent 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


23 


girrul con’t so much as attind to her bussiness fer bein’ 
waylayered ond besiegered be a mon thot it is raly ondacent 
to be cot wid.” Then with the stage effect of the Widow 
Bedott, “ Them windys is yourrun ond this flooer is moine, 
ond the sooner nor ye git to yourrun ond lit me alowen, 
the bitter fer both av us;” and she began to brandish her 
broom in such a way that the discreet Teddy briskly turned 
to his work, not, however, before he had with true Irish 
grit made a profound obeisance, lifting jauntily his broad- 
brimmed cap, saying: 

“Aure-vorrah — is the Frinchmen say, which to me 
understanding means, whin sed to a leddy, ‘Pair wooman, 
hav yer way.’ ” 

Dr. Angelan, unperceived by them, passed from one door 
to another across the corridor. He would have been amused 
at the little incident, had he not been so preoccupied with 
his own thoughts. As it was, he did not think of it until 
he came into his sleeping-room that evening, and found 
Teddy moving soberly about, arranging and making things 
comfortable for the night. He then remembered it vividly. 
Laughing softly, he said: 

“Cheer up, Teddy, my man, I am sure she will come 
around all right.” 

Teddy’s red Irish face grew redder to the roots of his 
stiff red hair, and his cunning little eyes twinkled, as he 
answered in unctuous vernacular : 

“ Indade — ond — ond, in trooth, Oi bee-lave, Misther On- 
gelan, ye con rade a mon’s thots.” The slow drag in 
Teddy’s voice added a quaintness and humor to his rolling 
Irish brogue that almost brought a laugh at his most or- 
dinary sayings. Now, in his confusion, it lagged more 
than ever, though rich as oil, and was ludicrously droll. 

St. John still sat laughing, and repeated: 

“Yes, cheer up, Teddy, she’ll come around.” 


24 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


Teddy had implicit confidence in every word that St. 
John Angelan uttered, but the scene in the corridor was 
still fresh, so he answered with another twinkle of the eye : 

“Yis, Misther Ongelan, Oi wad not dooubt it. She’ll 
cam aroound, but not till afther she’s brooken me head 
with a brooemstake.’' 

“When Dr. Angelan went next morning to see his lately 
arrived patient, Mrs. Mathers had her in one of the large 
chairs with which Dr. Angelan had provided every one of 
the patients in his commodious asylum. 

The beautiful hair Avas closely confined under a silken 
cap, but loose spirals of gold curled about the edges on the 
creamy temples and brow; the shell-tint of her flesh was 
deepened into a febrile flush on her cheek, and a smoulder- 
ing fire was in her eye, but her limbs were in a state of 
perfect quiet. The velvet chair, which was firmly fastened 
to the floor, held her in its soft embrace as securely as in 
a vise. In one of these chairs a patient could sit or recline 
with ease and comfort, but at the same time find it im- 
possible to lift hand or foot, or do any violence whatever 
to herself except through her struggles. 

Mrs. Mathers said : 

“ We had to put her in it after you left. I think she is 
almost exhausted with her efforts to free herself.” Then 
a little more lightly, smiling in a motherly way in his face, 
she said : 

“It was strange, St. John, the manner in which she 
called you her lover.” 

He answered with a grim smile in which there was also 
pity — there was almost always pity in St. John Angolan's 
face: 

“ Not very flattering, if she means that most profligate 
millionaire, Algernon Hastings.” 

As his voice struck on her ear, a something alert, and 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


25 


soft, and sweet came into the patient’s wildly beautiful 
face. 

“That was surely his voice — hut he called a hateful 
name,” and trembling, she looked about her fearfully. 

Seeing that she was in a semi-conscious state, he came 
to her and asked : 

“How do you feel this morning. Miss Ward?” 

Her eyes softened again. She looked into his face with 
the wistfulness of a little child, and said: 

“So tired,” she spoke wearily, “50 tired; let me go to 
bed and rest.” 

At a sign from Dr. Angelan Kitty touched a spring, and 
instantaneously all the other springs were loosed, and she 
sat unshackled. 

“ Let her lie down, immediately. Sleep is the great 
medicine.” 

She murmured as if in a dream : 

“ ‘Tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep.’ ” 

She had an exquisitely modulated voice, the perfection 
of good breeding, and natural music of tone; indeed, there 
was something in her voice, as he afterward found, to wLich 
he did not know the human voice could reach. For years 
this God-fearing man’s steps had led him away from the 
haunts of men, where he only, could have heard the human 
voice in all its power of exquisite culture. St. John An- 
gelan resisted even this allurement of the world, for if 
anything could have tempted him to go into an assemblage 
where he would be ashamed to meet his Lord, should He 
come, it would have been fine singing; love of music was 
a passion of his soul. 

It was the voice of his patient that had touched him 
with a feeling for her, Avhich no other patient had ever 
aroused in him before. He was not sentimental, but per- 
haps it was the words with which that voice first fell on 


26 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


his ear in joyously sweet accents, “My lover! my lover!” 
The silvery vibrations seemed still to be sounding in his 
ears as he went his rounds, and he was conscious of a 
haunting desire to be in her presence again, and see if she 
still, or would again claim him as such in her most pitiable 
delusion. He had much to keep him busy that day; much 
to call forth sympathy from the deep full heart, which 
seemed to be inexhaustible of its store ; much to tax the 
strength, which seemed to be rooted in tenderness and 
firmness, and given freely hour by hour to those poor, 
tireless, mind-haunted, repulsive, and desperate creatures 
cast there upon his mercy. 

The spring had been very damp ; a slow fever had gotten 
among .them; and St. John Angelan was doing all in his 
power to arrest its ravages, and prevent further infection. 
But, several were taken out to their burial, and several new 
cases were developed that day. And there threatened to 
be a stampede of attendants and servants. 

Through the power that was not of the man, but in him, 
he succeeded in quieting the insurgent element. 

Yes, he had much to burden him body and soul, and his 
head was not so clear as usual as he went about his duties. 
Her story had touched him so. 

So young, so beautiful, so rich, and, ah! pitying God, 
so worldly-minded. Strange fact, he scarcely thought of 
her affliction ! 

Mrs. Mathers met him in a corridor and told him Miss 
Ward was lucid. She explained: 

“After a long and profound sleep she roused up, and 
sitting in her bed looked about her in a dazed way. Com- 
prehending she was in a strange place, she asked me as if 
in terror, ‘Ah! where am I? And mother, and Keggie? 
Are these our new apartments, and is it really so bad, dear 
madam, are we really so poor? It seems to me I have been 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


27 


sick since mamma told me — and rebellious and unruly — 
and my head feels so strangely — as if it had been a wooden 
head, and is now again getting some feeling into it. Please 
tell mamma to come to me — and I think if I could feel 
Peggie’s little cool hand on my head it would not throb so.’ 
I told her I would assist her to dress first, and then I would 
see about her mother. She seems very weak, though she 
has dressed with scrupulous elegance in one of her exquisite 
morning gowns. As she was handling it and wondering 
how she would ever get dressed without ‘Celestine,’ she 
touched the costly silken thing tenderly, and said almost 
with tears, ‘How shall I ever give them up?’ then added 
with a shudder, ‘and yet I loathe him so. Ah! this tor- 
turing strain!’ I gave her the medicine you left, and 
soothed her, and told her that with her permission, I would 
bring the doctor; that she had not been ill, but had been 
suffering intensely with her head. She is docile as a little 
child, and readily assented to see you.” 

The same faint, sweet odor as of crushed violets met him 
as he entered her presence. A robe of creamy richness 
hung loosely about her elegant form. She was indeed as 
fair as a lily on its stalk, the stately hot-house calla lily, 
and it chanced that the chair in which she sat was of that 
dark, rich green that made the idea still more striking. 

As he approached her, she fastened on him her eyes; 
those large, deeply dark eyes with their heavy, dusky under- 
lying lashes, their broad pencilled dusky brows, and their 
thickly fringed lids; and they never wavered, but showed 
to him their unfathomable depths. 

In a moment or two she said — and her face was colorless 
as ivory, and her lips moved coldly : 

“I have been thinking since she” (making an inclination 
toward Mrs. Mathers) “ left the room and locked the door 
behind her. — I distinctly heard the click, and went and 


28 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


tried the door — and it is all very strange;” then suddenly, 
‘‘Why am I here,” she demanded in highly peremptory 
tones, “confined within four walls?” 

He looked her firmly in the eyes and answered truthfully : 

“ You were brought here to be my patient for a serious 
malady of the mind.” 

“And you expect me to believe this!” she cried, cheek 
and eye blazing now. “0, I have read of such things!” 
she continued desperately, “ but he cannot make me bend 
to his will.” 

Something in the whole presence of the man as he stood 
before her, arrested her. She paused ; gazed eagerly, ear- 
nestly up into the countenance that could be read of all 
men; and then the color left her cheek again, the fierce 
gleam left her eyes and, rising suddenly and abruptly, 
she extended her hand, and said in mellow, deprecating 
tones : 

“ Oh ! I beg your pardon, sir. I have suffered so much 
that everything hinges on that. Answer me truly, who are 
you, and who is that person?” pointing to Mrs. Mathers, 
“and where am I?” 

Still retaining her hand, but his fingers were on her pulse 
now, he answered in convincing, earnest tones: 

“ I am your physician, that is your kind friend, and this 
is, for the present, your home.” 

She looked for a moment into Mrs. Mathers’ noble, sweet 
face; a moment back up into the countenance that was so 
earnestly bent upon her, then about her at the simple, yet, 
neat and refined apartment — severely simple in all its ap- 
pointments. For a moment she swayed where she stood, 
for a moment she was speechless; then she cried — and her 
heart was in the cry : 

“Doctor, cure me speedily; I have a work to perform!” 

“So help me God, I will,” he breathed fervently. A 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


29 


second time the words came without any volition of his 
own, and his heart throbbed painfully at their utterance. 

“ What ails me now? Except that I feel dazed and lan- 
guid, I am well,” the hunted, haunted look coming back 
into her eyes. “ Could I not go back to them, now?” be- 
seechingly. “You don’t know how they need me!” 

His heart still throbbed painfully. 

“ What could you do for them?” he asked gently. 

“Ah! yes, I am so helpless, too,” her anguished eyes in 
his face; “we are so helpless, mamma and Reggie and I. 
You don’t know how it all is — all — all — gone — and I have 
perjured my own soul.” Dr. Angelan thought he had 
never in all his experience heard anything so hopelessly 
pathetic as these words. 

“ I heard him say it — but he was proud^ for he was gor- 
geously attired in that sacred place; why does he not heed 
it?” Then in a piercing whisper, “ Pride goeth before de- 
struction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” She was 
staring wildly at him again. Miss Ward’s lucid interval 
was over. 

Her eyes, still riveted on him, lost their dangerous gleam, 
and grew radiant again ; a something soft and womanly 
shone in them, and trembled about the sweet mouth; com- 
ing closer to him she once more laid her hand upon his 
breast, saying rapturously : 

“Ah! how royal you are! My lover, 5^ou have come to 
rescue me, I know.” 

Dr. Angelan turned abruptly away and walked hurriedly 
out of the room. Had the touch of her soft hand on his 
breast stirred the chord that made such a trembling joy in 
his heart? It still seemed to be resting there. The rhap- 
sody from the beautiful lips so unconscious of their utter- 
ance troubled him, but it moved his soul with a fervent 
prayer, that he might indeed “rescue” her. The words 


30 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


were so sweet, and her tones seemed to be still vibrating 
them on his ear. Ah, God ! that he might indeed be the 
means of casting the evil spirit out of this beautiful tem- 
ple ; that he might be the means in His power of restoring 
this girl to perfect soundness of mind and body. So fer- 
vent was the desire that he had unconsciously wandered to 
the gloom and secrecy of a far-reaching corridor, and with 
hands pressed reverently together, and held aloft, had made 
his petition to the God who seeth in secret, and who prom- 
ises to ‘^reward openly.’' 

Had he ever prayed so for a patient before? Scarcely. 
He had, continually, an uplifting of heart for these poor 
benighted creatures, and he had given his life day by day 
for them; he had strictly adhered to all of his humane 
methods of treating every separate patient, and he had 
asked God to bless these means to their good, but never 
before did his soul seem to go out in such earnestness of 
supplication for the individual. As the angels came and 
went on the beautiful ladder that touched earth and reached 
into heaven, so our prayers come and go. 

For days Miss Ward alternately raved and slept, and oc- 
casionally had lucid intervals, these latter sometimes fleet- 
ing, sometimes lasting for several hours. 

As Dr. Swayne had given up, and gone home for a few 
days to recuperate. Dr. Angelan had to be with her oftener 
than would otherwise have been the case. 

When raving, nothing turned the current of her thoughts, 
the mad torrent of her feelings, save the presence of St. 
John Angelan. She might be at her worst, the muttered 
soliloquy its bitterest, the febrile glare at its height in her 
wild eyes; but when his voice struck on her ear, and his 
gaze caught hers, he could hold it, and the fires smouldered ; 
and in a thrilling, pantihg whisper she would say: 

‘‘My lover, rescue me! I cannot — he shall not — no. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


31 


though they should beg from door to door, I cannot sell 
my soul. Eedeem me — you are so grand, so noble,” and 
with outstretched arms she would advance to him as if 
drawn by some overmastering power. The enchanting, 
panting whisper, ‘‘My lover, rescue me!” stirred his very 
soul. He prayed God to strengthen him and to take the 
mad thing out of her, and he would hold her at arms’ 
length with a grasp of iron. 

Coming out of unconsciousness one day and finding him 
holding her thus, with an intensely drawn, pained look upon 
his face, she asked : 

“ Tell me. Dr. Angelan, what do I do, when I am not 
myself?” 

His constrained look made her wonder in a vague way if 
she had any personal animosity toward him at such times 
— he seemed to suffer so, too, at the mention of it. But he 
answered gently, though with evident desire to dismiss the 
subject at once : 

“ It would do you no good. Do not ask me.” 

She had been under his treatment for nearly a month, 
when one morning he found her very quiet, and more natural 
than he had ever seen her. The majesty of her whole mien ; 
the exquisite expression of the coral mouth — so touch- 
ingly sad — the yearning pathos of the large mournful eyes; 
the whole noble countenance that held, for the first time 
to him, a look of pride and strength, above its trouble — 
her whole manner and look made his heart leap within 
him. 

The mass of burnished hair was brushed softly from the 
creamy white temples and brow, and lifted in loose bands 
high at the back of her perfectly moulded head, with fluffs 
of short curls massed on forehead and temples and at the 
back of her Hebe-like neck. It was the superb shoulders 
that gave to her the queen-like grace of bearing. Nothing 


32 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


could be more exquisite than her toilets, when Miss Ward 
was in any degree herself. Mrs, Mathers had told him that 
she always knew when Miss Ward was herself, she made her 
toilets with such scrupulous elegance. 

Her wardrobe was a wonderful combination of the rich- 
est color and texture — soft morning robes of India fabrics, 
all of tints which so admirably suited her rare style of 
beauty; fluffy tea-gowns of downy softness and that exqui- 
site creamy richness of hue which associated her in one’s 
mind, when robed in them, with one of those grand tea- 
scented roses almost blown upon the stem. 

As he came up, and stood in front of her his great heart 
was in his eyes. 

Seeing what was there, she exclaimed, while her whole 
face lighted up with a splendid joy : 

“I am much better this morning! You see it — your 
kind face tells me so ! Doctor, say, am I not a great deal 
better?’' 

Her joy was infectious; his voice had the same note in 
it as he held her pulse, and answered: 

“ Yes, better than you have been since you have been my 
patient.” 

“ I knew it, Mrs. Mathers,” throwing her grand eyes up 
to that lady exultingly. “I felt it this morning! I felt 
the blood in my veins cool as dew when I awoke — the hot 
stream that had been burning in my veins turned to dew ! 
See my forehead, touch it. Dr. Angelan ; is it not cool al- 
most as marble?” 

lie laid his hand for an instant against the dewy cool- 
ness, and the touch ran along his nerves like electricity. 

“Yes, that will do — no fever there.” 

Ilis voice was low and mellow. 

“ And I can go to work for them, at once — this very mo- 
ment?” 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


33 


In her eagerness she had risen, and her sweet ardent 
breath was on his face, and her joyous eyes were filled with 
something he had never seen in them before. 

An inward enthusiasm made his voice a little unsteady, 
and his eyes had some of its fire in them, but he said gently : 

“ Miss Ward, sit down and let me talk quietly with you 
for a little while.'* Lucid or raving he had the same power 
over her will ; she immediately sank back into her seat, 
but she said pleadingly : 

“I know you will not hinder me." 

‘‘ On the contrary, my patient, I will aid you all I can." 
Her face was radiant again. 

./‘O, thanks, thanks! You are so wise. Dr. Angelan, 
I know you can tell me just how to begin." 

He smiled as one does on a little child that has made a 
confiding remark, and asked while his deep sympathetic 
gaze rested steadily on her : 

‘‘What can you do?" 

Instantly it came to her that there was power in a talent 
which she possessed, and had cultivated. She exclaimed 
eagerly ; 

‘^Let me read to you, and see if it is worth the trial. 
But there are no hooks here. Can you not get me one," 
imperiously to Mrs. Mathers; then impatiently adding, “It 
is a mystery to me how I have existed in this barren place 
for — for — so long a time;" there was something in Dr. 
Angelan ’s face that made her falter, and it was almost on 
her lips to ask his pardon for rudeness, when he said quietly, 
still regarding her steadily with his lucid orbs: 

“ Would you mind reading me a short poem I carry with 
me — given me long ago by a friend?" 

He opened a little morocco case, and took out a paper. 

For answer she held out her hand eagerly for the bit of 
paper. 


3 


34 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


It was that simple yet grand poem, ^^The Leper,” by 
N. P. Willis. As she read, the power and pathos of her 
voice brought the scene vividly before him ; and when she 
cried “ Helen !” the sweet high note touched his soul with 
an ecstatic thrill, and it seemed to him that scarcely could 
have been the Master’s voice sweeter, to him, to whom it 
was to impart a newness of being. 

His eyes were luminous with inward feeling, his tones 
mellow and deep, as he said : 

God has given yon a wonderful power. Miss Ward.” 

She looked into his face with radiant eyes, and breathed 
in rapturous accents: 

“ Oh ! then it is worth the trial? I can do something 
for them?” 

The light was still in his eyes, but his tones were firmer, 
more resounding : 

What will you do with it?” he asked. 

She answered with fervor : 

Why, read to an audience — read night after night, yes, 
nights on nights — I do not believe I should ever tire if I 
could only get out of that hateful thing, and do something 
for them! Ah! Dr. Angelan,” and her face was meltingly 
sweet, “ no one knows what is in my heart for them. I 
love the world, but I love them better.” Then with fervid 
rejection, “I do not care for the humiliation,” and with 
ardor, “ I will go before those very thousands who have 
been my slaves, and be their servant, if they will only pour 
into my lap, gold, for my loved ones.” 

The high, true note in her tones, the pure, sweet zeal 
in her upbeaming face, her whole animated bearing, still 
held the light in his eyes, but he answered soberly, seri- 
ously : 

“ My dear Miss Ward, I have an idea that a woman should 
not speak in public. There is a book I hold more dear 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


35 


than aught else on earth; it tells me in one place, that 
women should ‘he chaste, keepers at home.’ ” 

She was about to make some hot, imperious interrup- 
tion, but he went on firml}^, and yet with that sweetness of 
accent which always held her : 

“ And, besides, my patient, you are not yet convalescent. 
How could you ask such an unreasonable thing of a reason- 
able physician, as to let you in your weak state undergo a 
thing that would be almost too much for you were you in 
perfect soundness of health. You see how it is, do you 
not?’^ 

His grave accents and pitying eyes brought the response : 

^‘How could I have asked it? But I know you will tell 
me something to do.’’ 

Again he experienced a thrill of delicious pain. This 
yielding was so sweet ; and there was something close in the 
yearning confidence. 

He answered, as if certain she possessed other powers. 

“ I sing,” she replied ; then added quickly, bitterly, “ but 
that, to be profitable, would also require an audience, and 
the excitement would be too much for me,” she was even 
now feeling that her strength and nerves were indeed very 
soon exhausted. 

He scarcely noted her comment, but said with a slight 
tremor in his voice : 

“ Some time you must let me hear you sing, when you 
are stronger.” He longed to hear her then, but must not 
tax her strength, and besides, he must give her her work, 
this imaginary task — there was tonic in that. 

‘‘What else can you do?” 

Suddenly and rapturously she exclaimed : 

“I paint — oh, yes, I paint well!” The quality of girlish- 
ness in this regal creature made a contradictory charm that 
was enchanting. “ I paint — divinely, my masters said, and 


36 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


I had the best when in Paris. I shall paint each day — it 
is so delightful — and you, kind friend, will place my pic- 
tures where they can be sold for them. You will help me 
in this, your face tells me so. It will be recreation — rest 
— life ! Mrs. Mathers, get me paints at once, and let me 
show you what I can do.” 

She rose in her eagerness, but Dr. Angelan said sooth- 
ingly: 

“ Sit down again, and let me tell you how you may ac- 
complish something in this. I shall allow you one hour 
every day for this work, and as you grow stronger a longer 
time shall be granted. Do you not see how much more 
you can gain by being patient and prudent? Best, now, 
for a while,” he continued gently. Then rising, he said: 

‘‘ I will myself go and get you all that is necessary for 
your work. You will rest while I am gone, will you 
not?” 

She watched him out of the room, his tones and looks 
still on her senses. 

She folded her hands with infinite content; they lay like 
sculptured marble in her white lap. A smile, full of 
dreamy grace, hovered about the scarlet mouth and about 
the infantile curves and tintings of the exquisitely moulded 
chin, and hung enmeshed in the light under the drooping 
fringes of the wide, rapt eyes that were gazing out on the 
glory below, into the dreamy, misty spring morning. 

A blissful breeze fiuttered the curtains, and lifting them 
softly, gave to her tranced senses still more of the glory 
outside. A hazy vista that stretched to wide waters — silver 
spar and glistening sail coming out of the receding white- 
ness into the resplendent morning sun. 

So had looked the lagoons of Venice, mornings and 
mornings agone. 

She scarcely stirred, but her eyes were wide, and in her 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


37 


face was something that made Mrs. Mathers long to break 
the silence. Moment on moment the matron’s nerves were 
on a stronger tension, until the voice, when it came, gave 
her a great start : 

‘^Tell me who, and what he is?’' 

Eecovering herself, Mrs. Mathers approached her gently, 
and asked in tremulous tones: 

‘^Of whom do you speak — St. John Angelan?” 

“Yes, St. John Angelan,” the voice was as soft as the 
cooing of doves, “St. John — and that is his name — St. 
John Angelan — who, and what is he?” 

Her eyes fastened themselves on Mrs. Mathers’ face with 
a scrutiny so keen and absorbing, that this second mother 
of St. John Angelan’s opened her heart to tell her beauti- 
ful questioner, indeed, what he was. 

“ He is a humble follower of the meek and lowly Jesus,” 
she answered with fervor. 

A swift change came over Miss Ward’s face; she looked 
horrified, and exclaimed a little wildly: 

“It is impossible! He, a straight-laced, sanctimonious 
man of creeds! Oh, how I detest such!” 

The other returned : 

“ He is the only man I ever knew who followed implicitly 
Christ’s commands;” her voice trembled, but she looked 
exultingly in Miss Ward’s face. 

Eleanor felt she had personally wounded this woman, 
but she said, still a little wildly: 

“ I do not wish to remain under the care of any such ! 
I thought him so different,” she added with bitter regret. 

Mrs. Mathers looked on the girl for a moment compas- 
sionately, and then her noble face shone with an inner 
light ; she said softly : 

“Miss Ward, would you like for me to tell you his life? 
It is a grand story, and will serve better than anything, just 


38 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


now, to show you what a true follower, a doer of Christ’s 
commands, really is.’' 

Something seemed to give way under the look on Mrs. 
Mather’s noble face. 

“Well, tell it me,” she granted reluctantly; then added 
almost under her breath, “ There is surely power in the 
man.” 

Mrs. Mathers began : 

“He is worth millions ” Miss Ward’s eyes were wide 

again, with amazement now, and she asked breathlessly, 
before Mrs. Mathers could go on*. 

“ And what is he doing here?” 

“Doing a noble work, doing his Master’s work,” Mrs. 
Mathers again answered with exaltation. The high look 
on her face quelled ignoble curiosity, and held the girl 
spellbound, while the matron went on: 

“This is an asylum, ‘The Nazarene,’ he has, with one 
of his millions, constituted for the benefit of those who are 
afflicted in a way which appeals more directly to his soul 
than any other.” She paused for a moment; her thoughts 
seemed troubled. She pressed her hand to her eyes as if to 
press back thoughts that were surging on her ; something 
swelled her bosom, which seemed to Eleanor to be almost a 
sob. Then she resumed, and her eyes were still full of 
trouble : 

“ It was for his mother’s sake. She was an inmate of 
one for several years; during the period she was confined 
there, he himself remained in the institution as assistant 
physician, in order that he might be with her daily. While 
there his soul revolted at some things his beloved mother 
was compelled to undergo. One thing, especially, he could 
not endure, so he took his mother from the asylum.” 

She was silent again for a short while — she seemed at a 
loss for words; then she resumed almost abruptly: 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


39 


Dr. Angelan never forces liis patients to eat — that is, 
I mean, he never administers food, artificially. He says he 
underwent such torture in witnessing his precious mother’s 
struggles, that he is convinced that science was not only 
wrong, but barbarous, when she brought forward the in- 
troduction of food into the stomach through the nostrils 
as a means of prolonging life. Did not the Book of Truth 
tell him that man’s days are numbered, that there is a 
time appointed for man to die? Wherefore, then, this 
torture to a poor demented creature, who will, or will not 
perish, only as the Lord sees fit? ‘Who can add one cubit 
to his stature,’ one hour to his life? St. John had seen 
his beloved mother forced into position, and the barbarous 
tube inserted into her sometimes bleeding nostril until his 
soul revolted at the treatment” — now indeed Miss Ward 
seemed hanging on her words — “ and finally he refused to 
permit it any longer. The physicians, who believed them- 
selves to be discharging almost a religious duty, refused to 
keep her at the asylum, unless permitted to treat her after 
their own methods. So St. John Angelan took his mother 
into his own keeping. He had just such a chair as the 
one you sit in, sometimes, constructed, and placed her in 
it when violent. No cages for human beings with St. John 
Angelan;” she said this as if rejoicing in his tenderness for 
his suffering fellow-man; and above the creeping horror 
that had come into Eleanor Ward’s face there rose almost 
a beatific expression. 

Mrs. Mather’s voice again fell into low, troubled tones: 

“ He came to me, his mother’s old-time friend, and to- 
gether we watched her until she faded away. At times I 
would think she must surely die of starvation, so long would 
she refuse to eat one morsel of food. In those days and nights 
I saw the soul of St. John Angelan. Miss Ward,” she ex- 
claimed with sudden fervor, “ he has been purified by suf- 


40 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


fering, and he has his trust in the Lord!’' Her eyes again 
shone with an inner light as she went on, in thrilling tones : 
“ When she would begin to take her food, again, it was 
pitiful to look on — she was so emaciated and so feeble, and 
he had such bowels of compassion for her. Tears! ah! 
Miss Ward, how I have shed them too, seeing this man 
with his mother.” She stood with her fine face full of the 
remembrance of it; then in a high note of prophecy, and 
lifting her hand solemnly and slightly extending it toward 
Miss Ward, she uttered: 

I know he will have a long and blessed life;” then, sud- 
denly, she asked with a little scorn : 

“Do you know how it reads — the first commandment 
with promise?” and seeing something like shame trembling 
about the agitated face, she went on with a persuasive rich- 
ness of accent, “ ‘ Honor thy father and thy mother, that it 
may be well with thee, and that thy days may be long in 
the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.’ ” 

She had such a noble face — Miss Ward had been struck 
with its dignity and refinement from the very first. She 
was silent again and seemed deeply troubled at the retro- 
spect ; she sighed heavily, and went on : 

“ The mother, in her early married life, had sore trials — 
heart troubles. In a pious exaltation of a pious mother’s 
frame she named her boy St. John, and like Hannah of 
old, doubtless, dedicated him to the Lord. The mother 
imagined, as he grew and waxed strong, the same tender 
grace of lineament in her boy that shone in all the beauti- 
ful pictures of St. John, the beloved. The mother watched 
and guarded him as the apple of her eye. Noble and lov- 
ing and generous, but high-spirited and wilful, the strain 
upon the mother was great. And the dread of the heredity 
of a sin, which finally, wrecked father and mother, made 
the strain greater. In his early manhood this sin threat- 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


41 


ened to overthrow St. John Angelan. It was then the 
mother gave way.'* Mrs. Mather’s voice had sunk almost 
to a whisper; she ceased speaking, and great trouble was 
in her eyes. Then she said, and Eleanor had to strain her 
ear to catch the words : 

^^That was a dark time, but great light came out of it;’' 
then, as if lifted by the recollection of it, she went on in 
an exalted way : 

“St. John from his babyhood loved his mother passion- 
ately, and the trouble — that was the way ” Miss Ward 

wished Mrs. Mathers would be more coherent, there was 
something in here she would like to know, but fon the life 
of her she could not force her lips to form the questions. 
A kind of awe seemed to hold her. “ That is one of the 
Lord’s ways — when he was but twenty, God saw fit to ‘call 
him’ and set him apart for his own use. In the fiush of 
manhood, St. John Angelan, in the full fiush of everything 
the World holds most precious, turned from her beckoning 
hand to follow the meek and lowly One. Yielding to that 
spirit which guides into obedience, schooled under that 
great master, self-control, purging himself from the lusts 
of the fiesh, he has become a vessel unto honor fit for the 
Master’s use. Yes, he turned from the world to seek the 
kingdom of God and his righteousness ; and I do assure 
you, my dear young lady, he has lost nothing by it; on the 
contrary’" — exultingly — “ all these things, as the promise is, 
‘have been added unto him.’ Do and receive the blessing 
— do the right thing, the thing commanded — and receive 
the promised reward. Do that which is commanded in the 
letter,” face and voice kindling, she went on in an ecstatic 
way, “ this is the simple rule of this God-fearing man. At 
first, it was blind faith by which he walked, but after re- 
peated action upon the word of God, and repeated blessing, 
he walked in the assurance of faith — Christ’s simple rules 


42 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


— those which He taught in His sermon on the Mount, and 
which comprehend the whole guide for a professed disciple 
of His — in a word, implicit trust in Christ’s methods, and 
simple obedience in carrying them out to the very letter, 
is assuredly that which works strength and power to this 
man of God. He would sometimes say to those who called 
him extreme in his views and manner of doing things: 
‘Who is my Lord and Master? Where do I find the com- 
mands by which I am to do His work — the work He has 
for every child of God? Search the Book upon which we 
base our all of truth, and see whether or not I am extreme! 
Will not a faithful servant follow the exact letter of the 
command of a beloved earthly master? 0 my brother,’ 
and his eyes would glow with that fervor which made men 
call him ‘strange’ (oh, pitying God! impious satire — a 
professed follower of Christ to call a practical follower 
‘strange’!) ‘let me throw aside every weight, yea, and the 
sin which doth so easily beset me, that I may run the race 
as one that should obtain ! Hinder me not — we are told 
that if we seek first the kingdom of heaven and His right- 
eousness all these things shall be added unto us ! Ah, holy 
zeal, make me rich — rich, that I may be able to do more 
and more good in this sin-cursed earth!’ And those who 
would talk with him would go away troubled, comprehend- 
ing in a vague way, what of earthly lust and vanity they 
would be compelled to renounce, in order to be ‘found 
faithful,’ and feeling unequal to the sacrifice. And just 
such eke out a spiritual existence here in poverty of soul — 
poverty of earthly happiness — poverty of heavenly bliss — 
and dearth of ‘fruits by which ye shall know them.’ ” 

It was Mrs. Mather’s manner that still held Eleanor 
Ward’s interest, for what she was now saying was almost 
as Hebrew to this sumptuous young woman reared under 
the training of that arch enemy “The World,” with her 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


43 


auxiliaries, wealth and luxury and fashionable church 
worship. 

“But how does he live? What does he do with his 
money?” she again asked, with vague discontent now, 
whether with herself, or with him, she knew not — some- 
thing seemed dawning on her. 

“Do with it?” the other asked, kindling again. “Go 
down in the streets of this city — anywhere, almost, through- 
out its length and breadth ! Here and there you will find 
a dozen or more alert young merchants — grocery men, 
dry goods, hardware, china shops, furniture men! Ask 
them who placed in their hands capital, money without 
usury — 0 blessed God, there is where the charity comes 
in!— only holding in a business arrangement — there is the 
stimulant to them — the original sum. Ask them, and they 
will tell you how they were struggling with young families, 
when he opened the way for them ! And they will tell you, 
too, that his walk and conversation have made them honor 
God, that his light has shined as we are commanded to let 
it shine. Go to the different institutions of learning high 
in the land, and ask a dozen — yes, twenty, thirty, bright 
lads in their teens — brighter and better for having had his 
friendly grasp and brotherly counsel ; ask these, who visited 
the ‘fatherless and the widow’ with his bounty, and placed 
them where their usefulness might be insured. They will 
tell you St. John Angolan did it, and, God helping them, 
they would make themselves like the man who had stretched 
out his hand to them ! Go to the pest-bitten part of the 
city — pest-bitten of small-pox not many years ago ; ask those 
who show signs of the plague, and their deeply marked 
faces will shine as they tell you how Dr. Angolan came and 
helped them in their dire need, nursed and fed and clothed 
them !” 

“He!” Miss Ward exclaimed, and her voice almost star- 


44 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


tied Mrs. Mj:thers in its sudden energy of rejection, “ he 
touched anything so loathsome as those abject creatures 
with small pox. I cannot believe it!” and her eyes burned 
with the repudiated thought. “Would he go from here, 
now, if one would come for him, to such a place, to such 
creatures? — would he go and come back here to us again? 
I cannot stay where this man is!” She went on rapidly: 
“Would he, in his fanaticism; expose us to such things?” 
A thought was struggling with the rush of words : “ How 
grand of him, how mean and cowardly of me!” 

Her face burned with a noble shame as Mrs. Mathers 
answered with gentle rebuke : 

“They are God’s creatures; as such they are as much to 
St. John Angolan as we are. Yes, he would go; he would 
not hesitate one moment;” then she added with her fine 
eyes shining : “ He would take every precaution for us, 
though.” 

A swift thought came with Mrs. Mathers’ words: “How 
could she have doubted that?” 

“And what else does he do?” Eleanor Ward asked with 
almost breathless eagerness; “there is power in the man.” 

“ Go to the poor mothers, wives of hard-working men in 
the factories, in the furnaces, at the sewers, at any of the 
drudgeways of life ; ask, who gave them money to take their 
little ones for a summering of two weeks — two blessed, 
beautiful weeks in God’s free, pure country, in all its sump- 
tuous summer splendor!” Her enthusiasm was beautiful 
to behold. Eleanor Ward leaned forward, and smiled. She 
thought in all her life she had never seen so noble a face 
on a woman. “ 0, the glory of it, of green stretches, and 
of flowers and fruits, and cool water, and life-giving breezes ! 
Ask, too, who gave their husbands at the ceaseless tread- 
mill money, yes, silver and gold for a two weeks’ feast — 
breakfast and dinner, aye, and supper too, at some neigh- 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


45 


boring restaurant ! No trudging noon and night to homes 
that made the pain of living still greater, seeing the weari- 
ness and toil, and hearing the meanings and complaints of 
those they loved — no ! Dr. Angelan, our good friend, our 
benefactor, has given us money to live like kings — money 
for our wives and our little ones, outside of the din, away 
from the dirt and the murk, to live for two grand weeks 
in God’s clean country ! This they will tell you,” exult- 
ingly, and as Miss Ward’s eyes grew more intense Mrs. 
Mathers’ voice broke nowand then in glad tears; “yes, 
and they will tell you, too, of times and times without 
number, of visiting their little sick ones, and medicines and 
the nourishing diet and cooling draughts he has given them 
— and oh, a thousand things that a man, only a Christian 
man like St. John Angelan, can do with his time and his 
money.” 

‘^Tell me more,” she breathed deeply, and hung upon 
the matron’s words. 

“ And go about over the city,” glorying in the saying of 
it, “ and find the crippled, and the maimed, and the halt, 
the blind, and the vagabond that he has helped to com- 
fort, and ease, and decency in manifold ways, by giving 
them braces and crutches and appliances, and rolling chairs, 
and respectable quarters ! Ten years has he been in this 
city, and he is known of it, and God is glorified through 
him. His light shines!” 

“ Strange,” said Miss Ward in a dreamy kind of way, as 
if lifted to the level of his actions, “ strange I have never 
heard of him before. My mother is associated with the 
highest charities of the city.” 

Mrs. Mathers lowered her chin and compressed her lips 
with conviction, and answered proudly: 

“Not at all. Miss Ward; in obedience to his Master’s 
command he does not sound a trumpet. I know all these 


46 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


things because I am with him daily, hours and hours, and 
I thank God I can help him with his work. He honors 
me. I cannot say that he is the son of my adoption, but I 
can proudly say I am the mother of his adoption. He 
chose me, his mother’s penniless friend, to be his second 
mother.” 

Eleanor Ward drew in a deep breath and said: 

‘‘I thought he was a grand man,” and her voice was as 
sweet as notes from chords all in tune. 

She sighed, a breath of deep joy, then murmured again : 

“ I thought he was a grand man.” And her eyes wan- 
dered out over the glory below. The mists had sailed away, 
and placid waters lay under the almost noonday sun ; a 
faint haze still softened the whole landscape, and blissful 
breezes still stirred in through the open window. The gar- 
den below sent up its odorous breath. 

A sigh of sweet repose, of rich content, and then the 
rapt voice repeated : 

“ I thought he was a grand man.” 

Dr. Angelan had come to bring her the paint, but he 
found his patient standing tragically at her fullest height 
as if drawn away from some obnoxious presence. She was 
saying with bitterest scorn and contempt : 

“You know I loathe you, coward! You dare not — dare 
not touch me — away! Your very touch sends madness! 
Do you want a mad wife? Ha! ha! ha!” 

Oh! that torturing laugh! Dr. Angelan involuntarily 
put his hands to his ears, and groaned audibly. 

Instantly, she turned ; almost as instantaneously, the eyes 
lost their gleam, the mouth its scorn, and the beautiful 
figure its haughty lines, and leaning forward with yearn- 
ing tenderness she stretched her hands toward him im- 
ploringly : 

“Eescue me, my lover! You have strength and man- 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


47 


hood, get me from his elutches!” and at such times she 
would have thrown herself into his arms, but he held her 
from him with an iron grasp. 

It was a part of Dr. Angolan’s treatment to humor the 
patient in whatever idea possessed him. Patients have 
strange and various hallucinations: for instance, one was 
always looking for blood, imagining he must find it; his 
frightened, haunted eyes always searching for blood. - And 
Dr. Angelan would have blood put in some corner and the 
poor deluded creature be allowed to find it. This, with 
medical and other modes of treatment, worked wonders. 
But St. John Angelan could not so humor this patient; 
his sense of honor would in no wise allow it. 

This girl had been there scarcely more than a month, 
and yet St. John Angelan loved her, as he felt he could love 
nothing else earthly. Again, in this new trial Mrs. Mathers 
saw the soul of St. John Angelan; and deep down in her 
proud motherly heart she called it a white soul. 

It was torture for him to remain away from this patient, 
and God only knew what torture to resist all the abandon- 
ment of her manner, when with outstretched arms, and 
worshipping eyes, and sweet voice thrilling with love, she 
would implore him to take her to his heart. 

At such times as these he could only leave her to Mrs. 
Mathers and strong young Kitty McKamarra. 

When he would find her lucid, the moments he had for 
her seemed so fieeting, such a crumb for the great hunger 
to be with her. But his duty claimed him in less pleasant 
places, and Dr. Angelan had learned the meaning of his 
King’s command, “ Know thy way, walk ye in it. Though 
he should faint in his steps, turn he would not, either to 
the right or to the left. 

Miss Ward’s manner toward him, when herself, was that 
of a patient toward a physician for whom one has great 


48 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


reverence ; a perceptible, yet haughty deference toward one 
who commands one’s gratitude. It was his reserve, Mrs. 
Mathers noted this, which lifted the barrier between them. 
She felt that St. John was holding himself, guarding him- 
self against this being, who had such power for his senses. 

But after she had heard his history, and all her noble 
self acknowledged, what it was, to be such a man, her 
manner changed; Eleanor Ward let him feel, as she felt, 
that now indeed she knew him. 

He was humoring the idea that seemed to possess her 
when lucid, even more than when otherwise : the idea that 
they were penniless. She was eagerly painting a picture, 
but he would on no account allow her to work beyond her 
strength. So the piece progressed but slowly, and this 
chafed her ; and she is rebellious, too, about her manner of 
living. At times she exclaims, haughtily: 

“ I cannot see why I am not allowed to have my maid ; 
Kitty is so clumsy, and if I might have Celestine, Kitty 
could serve somewhere else more profitably to everybody 
concerned.” 

And then she would feel that she had done an indelicate 
thing, for Mrs. Mathers’ dignity would assert itself in a 
mild rebuke of manner, that would render Eleanor per- 
fectly uncomfortable until she, with a contradictory girl- 
ishness that made her so irresistible, had said in an out- 
burst of pleading and justification: 

“ 0, Mrs. Mathers — dear madam — have patience with 
me! I am so spoiled, and everything is so different here 
to that which I have been accustomed to, all my life.” 

One morning she was laboring with the golden, silken 
mass that made such a glory about her face as she sat 
before her mirror in th'e early morning sunshine ; and she 
was trying to teach Kitty how to gather it up from about 
her shoulders and arrange it like Celestine did. But 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


49 


Kitty was dull, never having been a lady’s maid, and 
Eleanor became rebellious again, and exclaimed indig- 
nantly : 

“It is an outrage! Why can I not have my maid? 
Kitty will never learn/' 

“I think not either," assented the grave, sweet tones of 
the matron; “ it is just a waste of time to attempt to teach 
Kitty the art of hairdressing." Mrs. Mathers had seen 
the angry red come into Kitty’s face, and she had seen the 
wounded tear in her eye, and she added soothingly: 
“ Kitty’s forte lies in a nobler direction — lifting the sick 
and afflicted, and feeding helpless, hungry ones." Then 
she said gravely, encouragingly, and it was the first time 
she ever used her name : 

“ Eleanor, do you not think you could perform that sim- 
ple service for yourself?" She caught the golden threads 
in her hand, a whole shower of them, and continued: “It 
is so beautiful 1 I should love to handle it; and what labor 
is it? Simply to lift it thus, and what a diadem! No 
queen ever wore a more royal one." Not the words so 
much, flattering as they were, but the touch and the tones 
dispelled Miss Ward’s impatience; with girlish generosity 
and impulsiveness she exclaimed : 

“ I have annoyed you so often in this way, have I not, 
dear madam? Do you do your hair yourself?" — her face, 
upturned into Mrs. Mathers’, was marvellously lovely — 
“then, I shall do mine hereafter." 

But the breakfast when it comes, which it does in a little 
while, arouses the outraged feeling again. 

“ An anchorite’s meal," she thinks disdainfully, and then 
to be compelled to eat it straight through, as she had done 
for days; breakfast, and dinner, and supper, without leis- 
ure; no lingering over them, chatting and sipping; and 
with no ceremony of courses, luxurious, and fashionable, 
4 


50 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


and dainty. Yes, she felt disgusted with it, as it sat before 
her — a simple, plain dish or two of nourishing, sensible 
diet, a cup of some savory beverage, and a glass of rich, 
sweet-smelling milk — though hundreds in that broad city 
might have thought it a king’s meal. 

Mrs. Mathers, how long am I to be kept on such diet? I 
am sure I shall be a skeleton when I get out of this prison.” 

Seeing Mrs. Mathers’ gentle dignity of manner again 
assert itself, Eleanor said half apologetically, but with much 
haughteur : 

“ Kemember, my dear madam, that I have been accus- 
tomed to things so different, and served so differently.” 

Mrs. Mathers only looked at her pityingly, and said, and 
there seemed to be a hidden meaning in her tones: 

‘‘To-morrow, Eleanor, you shall go to the table.” 

And to-morrow Eleanor goes to the table. Soon she 
remembers, and knows the meaning of the under note in 
the wise and noble matron’s voice. 

Oh, would she ever to her dying day forget that meal? 

So many different ones, and yet all with eyes the same 
— hunted, haunted eyes! Some were chattering; some, 
laughing ; some, eating ravenously ; some, only eating when 
sharply reminded by their attendants. But all with 
startled, eager eyes, and it seemed to her all staring wildly 
at her. Attendants, too, with their alert, vigilant eyes 
darted suddenly at her and then back on the poor aimless 
creatures in their charge. The simple meal, back in her 
room, seemed a feast now by comparison with this long 
table, filled with dainty dishes though it was, but sur- 
rounded by that awful, awful sight ! Sister-women, women 
of like flesh and blood, bereft of reason, even as she had 
been and — fearful thought — might be again! Harmless 
they were, but oh, heart-sickening sight, not yet restored 
to reason. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


51 


Mrs. Mathers was standing above her ; she breathed np 
into her face : 

‘^Oh! take me away from this place, and from them!” 
and her eyes hung on the matron’s face with a look that 
touched her very soul. Eleanor Ward’s mother could not 
have led her away more tenderly. 

Up to this moment Eleanor Ward had had but little 
idea of the house, outside of her own apartment, into which 
she had been thrown, nor of its inmates, nor indeed of the 
nature of her own trouble. 

And is this place large, and is it full of them?” — she was 
almost panting — “ and have I been like them — are my eyes 
like theirs?” They were resplendent now, with excitement. 

Mrs. Mathers returned firmly, but tenderly: 

Your affliction is of the same nature, and. Miss Ward, 
God alone can remove it from you.” 

I know nothing of this power ; I wish to know nothing 
of it,” she exclaimed rebelliously. “My reliance is, alone, 
in the skill of my physician. Do you think Dr. Angelan 
can cure me?” 

The sweet, grave, encouraging accents of the matron 
again reassured her : 

“ You see how much better you have grown under his 
treatment. You have been yourself for days, Eleanor.” 

And now they were in her own room, and she felt like it 
was a bit of heaven shut away from those sights and sounds. 
But she was wondering how many there were, and if they 
all looked like these. And she could not eat the dainty 
meal that was presently brought, tempting as it now looked 
by contrast with that food surrounded by those eyes, and 
meaningless, chattering voices. 

A sob seemed to rise and choke her. Oh ! for home and 
mother and Reggie ! 

Mrs. Mathers’ heart yearned over her; she turned away 


52 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


to wipe a hot tear from her eye as Eleanor looked up again, 
her mouth trembling, her eyes full of a kind of horror. 

“ Mrs. Mathers,” she pleads, “ never take me there again. 
I will eat any way, submit to anything here., but they would 
kill me! It nauseates me, it breaks my heart!” and she 
fell to crying as if her heart would indeed break. 

Mrs. Mathers told St. John of this scene, and they both 
decided it would be best not to try her thus, at least until 
she had gradually become accustomed to them, and the 
surroundings outside of her own apartments. 

As the time goes on Miss Ward becomes more reconciled, 
and after a while that nature, that inherent power pecu- 
liarly her own to enjoy living, reasserts itself. Daily she 
was regaining strength of both body and mind ; only at 
rare intervals was there any wandering. The noble pres- 
ence of the matron, her wise conversation, with motherly 
attentions; the care, tender and devoted, of the strong 
young Irish Kitty, which day after day grew more tender 
and devoted ; and another presence, which was a daily rev- 
elation to her, made the “ living” take on a new phase. 

One day Mrs. Mathers said gently to her as she sat idly 
toying with a lapful of superb flowers sent her from home : 

“ They are like little children, Eleanor. You don’t know 
how they would enjoy your flowers.” 

She knew so well whom Mrs. Mathers meant. She looked 
frightened, at first, and then said in a relieved kind of way : 

“ Oh ! give them to them. I have thought of them so 
much, and I would love to do something — give them some 
pleasure, if it is only momentary,” she added. They had 
seemed to her so aimless, so unstable, so incapable. 

“ Could you not do this simple kindness to them yourself, 
Eleanor? You would be all the better for the going out.” 

But Eleanor shrank from the thought. 

“ When I am stronger, dear Mrs. Mathers, perhaps I can 
overcome the dread.” 


CHAPTEE II. 


A H! Horace, you have been gone an age!'’ 

r\ St. John Angolan’s eyes shone on him, and St. 

John Angolan’s firm, strong hand grasped his,, 
and Horace Swayne knew it was himself — Horace Swayne — 
friend, brother, not Dr. Swayne, the assistant, whom St. 
eTohn had longed to have with him again. His blood- 
shotten eyes, his unshaven face, his whole disordered appear- 
ance brought the question to St. John Angolan’s lips: 

How are things at home, brother?” 

His eyes always rested in Horace’s in a loving way when 
he asked such questions, but his tones, or something in the 
very presence of this God-fearing friend, made Horace 
Swayne feel that he himself, husband, father, was most to 
blame in all the trouble that had come into his life. 

“Home!” he echoed bitterly, and was about to add bit- 
ter, burning words, when he felt the touch of Angolan’s 
firm hand, that linked itself in his arm, and his friend’s 
full, soothing tones warned him : 

“ Not now, not yet, Horace. Let us take a few strides 
out in God’s cool morning; let us feel His presence and 
let us remember that His word saith, ‘And husbands, be 
not bitter against them. ’ Your wife cannot understand 
her part of the command, for she is yet under the bondage 
of sin, but you, 0 my brother, dare you to be bitter against 
this woman whom you have promised to love, honor, and 
cherish?” 

“St. John, you don’t know, you can’t form any idea 
53 


54 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


what I have had to pass through,” the other cried, defen- 
sively. 

‘‘ Well, do not tell it me. The trouble between man and 
wife is a secret that should be kept sacredly by each. Let 
us go our rounds together, and then ” 

“But you have been an eye-witness, and it is no longer 
a secret,” burst from the impetuous young husband. 

Dr. Angelan only drew the arm linked in his a little 
more firmly to his side, and said soothingly, as they con- 
tinued their walk : 

“We will go our rounds together this morning, Horace. 
I have missed you so much in my work ; you are such a 
comfort to me.” 

“ God only knows how!” the smothered ejaculation came 
from a consciousness of being so weak “ in the fiesh.” 

Without noticing it except by a dilating of the eyes that 
were on Horace now with all their warmth of sympathy 
and love, Dr. Angelan went on : 

“ I have a new patient I want to place in your charge. 
She came a few days after you left and is now better, and 
I think you will find the case an interesting one.” 

Scarcely heeding this, Horace burst out again : 

“ But, St. John, I must tell you ! I must out with some 
of this, now,” desperately, but with a perceptible softening 
of tone. “I must tell you what occurred, that brought 
about the trouble this time. I know I was most in fault.” 

“Noble fellow to acknowledge it!” exclaimed the 
strengthening tones of the other, and the light in the 
eyes was still warmer. 

“ I ought to have acted differently, I ought to have known 
better — who profess the name of Jesus, but” — bitterly — 
“ who walk not after Him. I ought to have spoken gently ; 
but man,” and he turned with a frenzied look into his 
friend’s face, “ I was mad with jealousy and rage. I know 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


55 


Margaret is as pure as any saint on our church books, and yet 
the taint, this society tainV — with infinite scorn — is 
upon her/' 

Angelan could only let him go on now, he knew him so 
well. His hot temper was Horace Swayne’s besetting sin. 

“You know I was sick with trouble and had to give up 
and let the work here go for a season." The hurt look in 
the blue eyes, and the trembling under the blond mustache, 
were appealing. Dr. Angelan drew the arm, linked in his, 
still more closely to his side. 

“ This worldliness, this craze after the fashion, the style 
— the vanities, the follies — that has always possessed my 
Margaret seems to have gotten hold upon her with renewed 
strength, since her Uncle Eobert left her all his money. 
My home is superb, my wife is superb, but what are they 
for me? The Inquisition was mild compared to what the 
one holds for me, and she — she is the cold-blooded Jesuit 
that " 

“ Horace ! Horace Swayne ! you are trampling under foot 
the command I have just quoted, ‘Be not bitter against 
them!’" sternly interrupted St. John Angelan. “Calm 
yourself, and if I must hear, tell it me. What is the great 
grievance now? " 

But the other went on in a lava tide : 

“ The theatre — she thinks I must go with her to the 
theatre, as any decent man," distinctly, but almost under 
his breath, “ who had not those ridiculous church notions 
— her very words — that make a perfect nuisance for other 
people who do not believe in them. Yes, she vowed she 
would go to this grand piece that was agitating her world, 
and if I would not go with her others would not despise 
the honor." 

“ And is it possible, Horace, that you have driven her to 
this?" asked Dr. Angelan in grief and dismay. 


56 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


‘^Driven her to this!” desperately answered the other. 
“You mean she has driven me to this! St. John, you have 
a maddening way of putting everything on me that I would 
not allow in any other man on earth. I may be in fault, I 
am in fault, but Margaret has driven me to all this herself. 
She ought to have more respect for me, and my religious 
views.” 

“ How can she get a respect not based upon your own 
conduct?” the other asked with mild rebuke ; then gravely : 
“ Horace, do you show the proper kind of respect for her 
views and notions?” 

“I am surprised at you, Angelan — you surely are not 
going to defend any of these things Margaret is constantly 
guilty of,” almost with wounded indignation. 

The other answered impressively : 

“Do you expect anything else of her, occupying the 
position she does, and reared as she has been? Was she 
doing differently when you were madly in love with her 
and begging her to be your wife? The great mistake you 
made, was, in transcending your bounds and marrying an 
unregenerate woman ; and now, my friend, you are making 
as great, and a still more grievous one, in trying to incline 
her to your views by the course you are pursuing toward 
her. Ah! Horace ” 

“ And would you have had me go to the theatre with 
her?” asked Horace, aghast. 

Without answering the question St. John asked, but very 
tenderly : 

“ How did you act, Horace, when this wife of yours asked 
of you what she had a right to ask? She does not know 
the harm of the theatre — she has not yet been taught it of 
God. How did you act when she asked you, the man she 
had a right to ask to go with her” — impressively — “ and in 
this she acted with all the deference a wife should toward 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


57 


the husband — how did you treat this consideration from 
her?*' 

Oh, now you are grinding me — you always do grind me 
and sift me." Then with a satirical laugh that pained his 
friend’s ear, he answered: “I acted as any other man with 
a proper sense of honor would have done," then added in a 
tone of bitter resentment: It was not what she asked, but 
the manner in which she asked it that maddened me so." 

There was to Horace an accusation in Dr. Angolan’s 
reply: 

Perhaps it was not the fact of your telling her you 
would not go with her, but the manner in which you told 
her so that made her act as she did." 

St. John’s words and tones, too, made Horace feel how 
guilty he, indeed, was. 

Blame me alone ! Throw it all on me — I deserve every 
bit of it and more ! I acted like an insane man, for she 
looked so magnificently beautiful. Sinful or not sinful, I 
cannot help loving Margaret all the more madly when she 
is in one of those shocking evening toilets, much as I loathe 
them! She came to our children’s room to tell me good- 
night. Margaret loves me — I know this. " His voice broke, 
and St. John quoted, soothingly: 

“ ‘And how knowest thou, 0 man, but that thou mayest 
save thy wife?’ " 

Horace held up his hand : 

“ For the love of God, St. John, do not add to my burn- 
ing conscience! She came to tell me good-night, and she 
looked so pitilessly beautiful that I forgot everything — the 
presence of my children, the presence of my God. I said, 
as I waved her from me, that I would not touch the hand 
of a woman that in a few moments would be on the arm 
of the dastard waiting below. I said I did not want to 
feel the breath that in a moment would be on the face of 


58 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


the poltroon who would be bending low over her with so- 
ciety’s most courtly grace — whitewashed abomination. ” He 
was almost choking, now, at the thought of it. I told her 
I did not want to look into the eyes of a woman, who in the 
gaud and glare of the stage, would be looking back into 
the eyes that were an insult to any true woman. I told 
her the whole thing was a stench in my nostrils.” 

You, a Christian gentleman, lost yourself and behaved 
like that! Horace, I can scarcely believe it. You will 
make your young wife do something desperate. With what 
angry, resentful feelings she must have gone away from you 
that night!” 

‘‘ Oh, you ought to have seen her, and heard her.” 

The other interrupted, firmly: 

I will not hear you repeat it. I refuse to hear one 
word more while you are in such a frame. Think, Horace: 
do you not know it is disloyal in you to repeat what your 
wife says under such great provocation?” 

‘‘ In Heaven’s name, St. John, was not my provocation 
great?” 

“Horace,” the other said calmly, earnestly, “are you 
aware that you are blasphemous when you make use of such 
expressions as ‘For God’s sake’ and ‘In Heaven’s name,’ 
when you are in these angry moods? God is not in all your 
thoughts, and it is only the fiesh that is in the ascendency, 
now.” 

He spoke with stern rebuke, but his tones softened as he 
felt his friend’s great, stalwart frame shake as a groan, 
almost a sob, escaped. 

“Yes, brother,” he continued soothingly, and yet there 
was no yielding in his tones — “ yes, your provocation was 
great. In ordinary things I cannot imagine a greater trial 
to an honorable gentleman than for his wife to allow an- 
other man to take her away from her home, alone with 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


59 


him, and spend hours and hours in the presence of things 
that are winked at in the great world of the worldly. You 
said truly there is a ‘taint’ upon any woman who will be 
allured into it. But, Horace, do you feel that you have 
been ‘forbearing’ and ‘long-suffering’ and ‘kind’ to this 
wife of yours who has no fear of God before her?” 

Dr. Swayne’s mind ran back to the very date when things 
grew worse, and his conscience cried out : 

“No — ah, God! no, I have not. I feel I have not. I 
know I have been defending what is right, but I have not 
been defending it in the right way^ else the result would 
have been different. ” Then in still livelier pain : “ And now 
she is gone, gone for six long weeks, and how will she act 
in the midst of the mad whirl, in the very midst of the 
things that beset her so?” 

“ Where is she?” 

“ Gone to Long Branch. In it all, and angry with me.” 

“ Horace, you look so much at these faults of your young 
wife that I think you fail to do her virtues full justice. 
Do you realize that in most things you have a sensible and 
superior wife? and she is so devoted to you.” 

“But don’t I tell you, St. John, that she will not yield 
one inch to my religious views? This asylum she despises 
with her whole soul; she thinks it keeps me from her and 
the children. She says there is no necessity — no reason 
why I should tie myself here when she and the children 
need me so much. Is that sensible?” he ended with em- 
phasis, looking to his friend’s face with contradiction in 
his. 

“Why, certainly,” the other answered, speaking gently. 
“ It is the reasoning of a woman who loves, and does not 
know how to make a sacrifice for Christ’s sake — the antag- 
onism of the world, in her, to the Lord’s work here.” 

“ But what am I to do now?” answered Horace, convinced. 


60 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


as he always was, easily by his friend’s arguments. “What 
am I to do now?’' he groaned, and there was such a helpless 
look on his fine, large-featured face that St. John’s heart 
yearned over him. 

“ She left me in such anger. Margaret never left me so 
before. And I feel that I must throw up everything and 
go to her. What would you do, St. John, brother, if you 
were in such a strait?” 

St. John Angelan did not answer for a moment or two, 
and then, with that meekness which made the man’s infiu- 
ence for good so potent, said in deep tones : 

“I have not been so tried, and” — sighing heavily — “we 
are so weak under that which touches us most ; but I think,” 
he said slowly — “ I think I would write to my wife at once, 
and, putting aside all pride, let her know how truly sorry 
I was for so far forgetting myself as to do and say such un- 
kind things to her. And, Horace, let her feel how much 
you miss her and your little ones ; write to her daily, and 
pray God to keep her as the ‘apple of His eye,’ and,” he 
ended with a resounding and strengthening ring, “lift up 
your head and be not dismayed. Go forward with the 
work here, for the Master’s sake, and you will receive the 
blessing, even comfort.” The same ring in his voice that 
always sounded there when St. John Angelan was trying 
to encourage one stumbling on the way. 

They had turned back and were now again at the asylum 
door. As they were about to enter, a handsomely mounted 
turnout stopped, and a man, exquisitely done up in the 
latest color and cut, his front blinking with diamonds, as- 
sisted by his servants, got out and languidly ascended the 
steps. 

Leering with supercilious interest through his dudishly 
perched glasses, he asked with a fashionable drawl : 

“ Can you — ah — show me — ah — into the presence of — ah 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


61 


— Dr. Angelan? I believe he is the — ah— superintendent 
here.'* 

“I am the person named," answered the full, mellow 
tones of Dr. Angelan as he looked steadily down into the 
eye-glasses of his visitor, while Horace, miserable as he 
was, had to turn aside to hide a smile, excited by the ridicu- 
lous caricature of a man and his unconscious effrontery in 
calling St. John Angelan ‘‘the superintendent." 

“ Can you dispose — ah — of — ah — that person? " pointing 
to Horace. “ My business is — ah — of — ah — a private na- 
ture. I would prefer to speak with you alone." 

“That is my assistant; his presence need not disturb 
you. But come into my office." 

The man’s face became almost livid with some kind of 
repressed feeling, and his voice trembled as he returned : 

“Do you — ah — take me — ah — for a common visitor?" 
and he drew his elegantly encased little legs up to their 
fullest length, and struck his gold-headed wisp of a cane 
on the floor. The effrontery was becoming personal now, 
and the smile disappeared from under Horace’s mustache. 

His eyes, dilated, were full on the insolent visitor. But 
St. John Angelan answered, suavely: 

“ All visitors are treated with like courtesy, here. If you 
will not go in, I am at your service. What can I do for 
you ?" Horace gloried in St. John Angelan. There was in- 
terest and humanity, too, in his eyes and voice, even as he 
looked on this insolent little puppy. 

Some feeling for the man, aroused by the conduct of his 
friend, impelled Dr. Swayne to walk a short distance apart 
so that he might have his interview, as he desired, alone 
with Dr. Angelan. 

“I am Algernon Hastings," he announced, in a great 
swelling manner, again stretching his pygmy proportions, 
and added, with angry peremptoriness, “and wish to be 


62 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


taken — ah — at once — into the pres — ence of my — ah — the 
patient brought here by Mrs. Eleanor Ward. I have — ah 
— her mother’s sanction.” 

Not until then did St. John Angolan’s face change. 

It was as if a cloud had passed over the sun and thrown 
a heavy shadow on the fine features. He still looked stead- 
ily down into the man’s face, but he answered with a firm- 
ness that the man recognized at once, and it infuriated 
him : 

“ That is impossible ; ” then added, as if in courtesy to his 
visitor, “ that patient cannot be allowed to receive any one.” 

“How dare you refuse me? I must and will see her. 
Stand aside, at once.” The man was full of wine; that 
could easily be seen. 

Insulting as his manner was, St. John Angelan still con- 
fronted him with the grand mien of a gentleman. 

The man, struck with some new idea that made his eye 
lurid, asked, in a high key: 

“ Who are you?” 

“ I am St. John Angelan, physician in charge here.” His 
voice was calm, his face tense. 

“ And do you see her daily ?” The eyes glared more fiercely 
through the glasses — his lips were drawn apart, and his 
teeth had the look of a dog’s when in a rage. 

“ Sometimes, twice daily.” There was some softening in 
St. John’s face, as the man seemed almost beside himself. 

“ Are you married, or not?” The question seemed to come 
with the quick, intense breathing, his lurid eyes full in the 
magnificent countenance. 

A dark fiush mounted to the very roots of St. John An- 
golan’s hair, but he answered with his eyes still steadily 
on his interlocutor and in a sonorous voice : 

“ Though you have no right to ask me such a question, I 
answer, not” 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


63 


“ Then, by the gods, that is why you refuse me admit- 
tance/' He had lost his drawl. ‘^You love her yourself. 
Stand aside and let me pass. I have the right." And as 
Dr. Angelan remained immovable in the doorway, the in- 
furiate lover sprang upon the step, and with the glove he 
had been wringing in his angry grasp struck Angelan on the 
cheek. 

St. John Angelan drew his fine figure up to its grand 
height and stood rock-like, though his lips were livid, his 
brow like a thunder-cloud, and his eye like lightning, and 
‘‘turned the other cheek also." But before the poltroon 
had time to “smite" that, the athletic form of Horace 
Swayne was upon the insolent assailant with the spring of 
an enraged tiger. He dealt him several blows on his inso- 
lent mouth, and then he seemed to be wreaking a furious 
desire to wrench from its socket the arm which had dared 
to lift itself against his friend. 

“Horace! Horace!" 

The voice — its infiections — reached him, touched his 
soul, and arrested the mad might with which he was tor- 
turing the man in his hold, though the cries of pain had 
not aroused one atom of pity. 

St. John had to use no force when he pulled his friend 
from the now bleeding and demolished piece of exquisitely- 
gotten-up daintiness. He was a ludicrously pitiable ob- 
ject, coward that he was, speechless with terror and rage 
and almost fainting. 

His cane was lying in pieces upon the floor, its brittle- 
ness as nothing in the hands of the Hercules who had 
snapped it into bits; his beaver, which Horace had ruth- 
lessly trampled over, flattened into unrecognizable head- 
gear; eye and mouth already swollen, his immaculate front 
bespotted with blood, and the fine texture of his coat rent 
in many places. 


64 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


Horace laughed, contemptuously. 

“ Control yourself, Horace, and assist me with this man 
to his carriage/' St. John’s voice was deep and troubled, 
and had an imploring note in it that touched Horace, again. 

They got him to his carriage, his servants coming for- 
ward, scarcely able to hide their relish of his sad plight. 

As he was driven away, the two standing there heard him 
call out with bitterest imprecations: 

“ You shall rue this day.” 

Dr. Angelan turned upon his fiery defender with a blaze 
of righteous indignation, hut his voice conveyed all the 
love he felt for him : 

‘^Ah! Horace, my well-beloved, why will you so trans- 
gress the law of Christ? You know that in my human 
nature I thank you for this defence of me, hut — our Master 
did not so.” He rubbed his hand across his forehead in a 
deeply troubled way. 

Horace was still trembling with the violence of his actions 
and emotions. He dashed a hot tear from his eye as Dr. 
Angelan, linking his arm within his, said : 

“ This will bring us trouble, my friend, trouble of which 
you little dream.” 

And it was even so. 

Come to my room and bathe your face.” 

When they had reached the door, he said : 

‘^Go in, make yourself fresh; make yourself Horace^*' 
added, soothingly and encouragingly. 

Throwing ofE his coat, Horace Swayne dashed the water 
over his face with his burning hands, aching and burning 
from the blows which he had dealt. Eaising himself from 
the bowl, mustache and face dripping, he asked, with strug- 
gling emotions: 

“Angelan — St. John, did you mean it? You don’t 
mean to tell me you were going to let that cowardly pol- 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


65 


troon’' — a warning look from his friend — you surely were 
not going to let him strike you, again, and not resist?” 

St. John’s look lit. 

‘‘What command have I?” lifting himself to his grand 
height, he answered, his voice resounding, “ who is my Mas- 
ter?” then dropping his voice it sounded low and sweet to 
Dr. Swayne’s ear: “Yes, thanks he to His Holy Spirit, I 
can say He has made me not only willing hut proud to hear 
shame, because He has commanded it. ‘Smite me on the 
other also!’ ” Kindling again. “ What is this poor flesh 
that He has told me to have hufleted if need he, for His 
sake, in comparison to the breaking of one of the least of 
these. His commandments? Horace, do you not compre- 
hend it, the feeling? He died for me!” the light had 
softened in his eyes, and now burned with a holy ardor — 
“ He died for me, that I might inherit eternal life ! May 
I not do these little things for Him?” 

Horace’s face, fresh from the bath, irradiated and shone 
with an answering faith, and he exclaimed: 

“ Increase my faith. Lord! St. John, teach me to be an 
oledient Christian ; teach me how to get the blessing of this 
life!” 

The other answered earnestly, grasping his hand : 

“ Again, I say it to you, my brother, you know the way, 
walk ye in it.” 

Horace answered in a boyish way, always so captivating : 

“But Horace Swayne won’t let me.” 

“ Is Horace Swayne stronger than He who hath chosen 
him?” 

“ 0, Angelan, I sometimes doubt whether He has chosen 
me or not.” 

The other answered strongly, encouragingly : 

“ J ust such things as you did a while ago, make you doubt. 
You yielded to Satan, under his influence, you doubt.” 

5 


66 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


Horace was brushing his glossy hair, and smoothing first 
one side and then the other of his superb blond mustache, 
looking contemptuously into the face reflected back to him 
from the mirror before which he stood. His disgust was 
evident ; he said : 

“ I feel so guilty and undone, sometimes, that I loathe 
my own image in the glass.” 

Then you must loathe a most goodly countenance, my 
friend, for now that it is clearing off,” and indeed a smile 
was breaking over it, it is just about as ‘comely’ as Da- 
vid’s was, I imagine.” 

“ ‘ Love hideth the multitude of faults, ’ ” the other quoted 
sententiously, to cover the satisfaction this praise of Ango- 
lan’s gave him. “ Bear with me, best of brothers — teach 
me your ways.” 

“Learn them from the Example in the Guide Book;” 
then with deepened earnestness : “ Horace, be obedient to 
His commands as they face you in every-day life — obedient 
to the very letter — and you will not feel the need of learn- 
ing from any one, but will be a teacher. 0 my brother,” 
suddenly and imploringly, “ you have so much need to be 
a teacher — a wife and three little children — what a power 
for good, even in your own household, if you will only use 
it well!” 

Horace was trembling again; his encounter had made 
him physically weak and nervous, and now this urgent ap- 
peal, almost in the form of a prayer, completely unmanned 
him. He could utter no word, but the angels came and 
went on the beautiful ladder. 

He had brushed the last atom of dust, surely, from his 
clothes. Dr. Angelan said : 

“ Come now, we will go our rounds together. I want 
you to see Miss Ward.” 

Horace regarded him, inquiringly ; 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


67 


‘^Miss Ward?” as if he had dreamed something about 
her. 

‘^Yes, Miss Ward, the patient of whom I spoke this 
morning when you first came ; but your mind was on other 
things,” sympathetically. 

Something dawned in Dr. Swayne’s face. 

Yes, yes, I remember now,” turning to walk with him; 

is it she, of whom that coward spoke?” and his voice again 
raised the note that St. John did not like, because no note 
of the Master’s was in it. 

Yes,” he answered gravely, and a fiush came under his 
eyes, again, and rose to the roots of his hair. Horace re- 
membered the fiush he had seen on Angolan’s face when 
the man made an assertion, and he wondered. 

Miss Ward was very violent this morning, Mrs. Mathers 
told them at the door. They had had to place her in the 
chair for the first time for many days. 

Dr. Swayne saw a deeply troubled expression settle on 
St. John’s face as he said in a low tone : 

‘^Go to her, Horace; I want you, I really luant you to 
take charge of this patient;” there was almost entreaty in 
the guarded undertone in which he spoke. 

Dr. Swayne approached the figure in the large chair. 
The face was colorless as the v/axen petals on a lily’s stalk; 
the heavily fringed lids drooped wearily; damp tendrils of 
golden hair clung to the moist forehead under the silken 
cap — the day was very hot. Eleanor Ward was quiet, now, 
from sheer exhaustion. 

But the wild, wonderful eyes were wide open in an in- 
stant, as the sound of Dr. Swayne’s voice broke the silence 
of the room. 

“Miss Ward!” He had uttered it softly, pityingly, but 
the eyes fiared on him a look of intense hate, and Avith a 
shriek, she cried out : 


68 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


“ Take him from me — oh, how I loathe him !” and her 
weary limbs began their desperate struggles, again. 

Dr. Swayne would have touched her, soothed her, he 
felt so much pity — such marvellous beauty, under such a 
desperate hold ; but she became more frantic — it is wonder- 
ful what a reserve of strength these poor creatures have — 
and cried out: 

“ Let him, not touch me, his very touch sends madness!” 
there were flecks of foam on her pale lips and her efforts 
at release were alarming. Dr. Swayne was compelled to 
retire from the room. 

Not before he had seen a transformation. Dr. Angolan 
came hastily forward, and used the same words which he 
had, but a moment, before used: 

“Miss Ward!” 

When, lo! the beautiful limbs ceased their struggles; re- 
laxed ; and then seemed to be reanimated with a new life. 

She leaned forward, gazing upward with adoring confi- 
dence, and Dr. Swayne, transfixed in the doorway, saw the 
glory in her face and heard the melody in her voice, as 
she uttered, beseechingly: 

“My lover, do not let him touch me; you are so grand 
and strong, save me!” 

As he turned on his heel. Dr. Swayne wondered no longer. 
He knew why this man of honor wanted him to take charge 
of this patient. 


CHAPTER III. 


HAT evening they went, together, to her again. - 



_L This relapse was especially painful to Dr. Angelan. 

Days before, he had placed her in the convalescent 
ward, and he had hoped the change would aid in her 
speedy recovery. 

He had given her a room next to Mrs. Mathers’ apart- 
ments in the western wing of the building. The ceiling 
was lofty, the walls of a creamy whiteness, the room wide 
and cool, and exquisitely simple and neat. A large western 
window with soft hangings, a low mantel over which hung 
a rich oil painting, an old and rare and exquisite produc- 
tion — it had belonged to St. John’s mother — after a beau- 
tiful ideal of Christ, with the beloved disciple leaning on 
His bosom. This was the one adornment of the room, but 
there was a large easy-chair, other chairs, an inlaid ebony 
easel, a little brass table with a small Bible and a delicate 
glass dish filled with flowers. 

An open doorway led into a small sleeping-apartment, 
ventilated through this airy sitting-room. 

Miss Ward had grown quieter, and, loosed from her con- 
finement, was sitting by the open window. She was in one 
of those soft, fluffy, creamy gowns that associated her in 
one’s mind with a grand tea-scented rose almost blown upon 
the stem. The scent of crushed violets faintly pervaded 
the atmosphere of the room. 

She was singing softly, so softly that the notes seemed 
but the echo of sounds in a dream. 

As they approached, her eyes, fascinated, seemed loath to 


69 


70 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


leave the scene below. Scarcely had Dr. Angelan said, 
‘^Miss Ward, this is Dr. Swayne, my assistant, and 
friend,” and she had, without rising, in a sweetly gracious 
way extended her hand (the languors of the narcotics she 
had taken were still upon her), when her dreamy eyes went 
back to the glory below, and she uttered almost as if chant- 
ing: 

Spread out before me the great wide west, soft summer 
clouds laid out in heaven-like isles for the blest; the purple 
summer evening, slipping behind the dreamy mountains; 
a silver horn swung in the mellow light, and slipping, too, 
toward the dreamy mountains.” 

Dr. Swayne said in an undertone, almost breathlessly : 

“ What a grand creature!” 

And the other’s heart yearned over her with unutterable 
tenderness. 

She turned to them slowly, and said, scarcely conscious 
of their presence, and she smiled mystically on them : 

I always had my fancies ; one was, as I watched Orion 
swing his gem-hilted dagger in the night, that he was pur- 
suing some faithless maid, perhaps the lost sister Pleiad, 
bent on plunging its glittering point to her heart.” 

Then seeming to realize that a stranger was present and 
something was required of her, she smiled in a seraphic 
way up into their faces, a dreamy grace on lip and cheek. 

She raised one hand up and touched lightly the soft 
fluffs of curls about her forehead, then let it slip back with 
the other in her lap ; they lay together like sculptured mar- 
ble. The sleeves of her gown were short, scarcely below 
the elbow, and a film of lace fell like a tracery of frost-work 
on her perfect arm. 

There was a sumptuous stateliness in the pose in which 
she reclined in the large chair, and a luxurious charm 
about her whole presence. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


71 


Her eyes, her great, deeply dark eyes, with their heavy 
underlying dusky lashes and drooping, dusky fringes, and 
their broad pencilled, dusky brows, had a way of dwelling 
on one with a dreamy intentness that roused in him a 
strange yet sweet desire to know what was in their un- 
fathomable depths. 

Dr. Angelan almost trembled under their power, and 
Horace Swayne was wondering who, and what, she was. 

“But excuse me. Dr. Angelan,” she said, coming to her- 
self, a sweetly gracious courtesy in look and tone, “ this is 
your friend, and assistant.” 

“Dr. Swayne,” supplied that gentleman, with his bright 
smile, all annoyance gone; the presence of a beautiful and 
gracious woman extirpates evil spirits in man. 

“ Ah, yes. Dr. Swayne. I have heard Mrs. Mathers speak 
of you, so often,” then with the exquisite grace of a thor- 
oughly cultivated woman, she added : 

“I feel sure I know your wife — the beautiful Mrs. 
Swayne,” then still more warmly, “she is so lovely.” 

Her interest was so flattering and it touched his vital 
part; though it gave him a great pang to know that they 
had met in such places, that he could not be with her to be 
her protector. 

But he was highly gratified, and answered with zest: 

“ I think so; lam sure you have fine taste. Miss Ward.” 

There was something so genuine and happy in this boy- 
ish response that Miss Ward laughed archly in his face, 
and asked in a little surprise, as she lifted her hand with 
mocking grace — one of those enchantments of gesture which 
women of fashion seem to have been born with: 

“How long have you been married?” 

“Seven years.” 

“And in love, still?” she returned with bewitching skep- 
ticism, lifting her broad brows incredulously. Dr. Angelan 


72 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


was listening with sad, pitying eyes — ah, yes, that is the 
way she had learned it, the history of society, indifference 
of man and wife ; he takes his way, she takes hers. 

Why is it we have never met? Sometimes,” still mock- 
ingly, ‘‘a gentleman has the honor to be his wife’s escort.” 

The question pained Horace. And the other was labor- 
ing with the thought: so young, and yet how she has 
learned it ! 

Horace answered proudly, proudly for himself, proudly 
for Margaret : 

“ I could have that honor always, did not higher obliga- 
tions claim me.” 

“Higher obligations!” she echoed in high-bred aston- 
ishment, and she looked on him with somewhat of dis- 
pleasure on her fine features ; “ excuse me, but it puzzles me 
to know what ‘higher obligations’ a man can have, than to 
his wife?” 

St. John Angelan was, inly, saying, “ She knows that, 
she knows that; her pure sense of honor has taught her 
that, with all the bad teaching about her.” 

An angry flush rose to Horace’s face, but it vanished in 
an instant as he looked on her, and he answered in a tone 
that St. John gloried in : 

“ My duty to my God, Miss Ward.” 

She laughed a rich gurgle, shrugged her superb shoul- 
ders, and said frankly : 

“ Oh, I don’t know anything about any such duty. Par- 
don me, but I had not thought of accusing you of being 
pious.” 

St. John Angolan’s mellow tones intercepted Horace’s 
reply: 

“ Miss Ward, I am going to place you in Dr. Swayne’s 
charge for a while. I think the change would be beneficial. ” 

The careless, yet elegant, repose in which she had sat, 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


73 


was disturbed. She lifted herself with a queenly grace, 
and said peremptorily : 

I do not see the need of a change. I prefer to have 
the same physician. Pardon me, Dr. Swayne,” smiling 
sweetly in his face, and the smile, though it was not for 
him, touched Dr. Angelan strangely; then letting her 
shoulders fall out of their severe lines, she added : 

“ I have gotten accustomed to Dr. Angelan, and wish to 
remain under his treatment.’’ 

Horace bowed suavely and again answered with warmth : 

‘^And in that, too. Miss Ward displays wonderful taste.” 

She did not know why, but she felt a warm flush creep 
to her very brow and she could And no words for this in- 
signiflcant occasion. 

Dr. Angelan was dismayed at the thought of thus being 
chosen her constant attendant when he felt, to be honorable, 
he must do otherwise. And yet looking on her face, the 
dawn flame burning there, an exultant bliss trembled at 
his heart. But he was saying inly, This is but the fancy 
of a woman who has had her every wish gratifled.” 

Her repugnance to Dr. Swayne when violent, and her 
peremptory disposal of him when herself, made it impossi- 
ble for Dr. Angelan to take the course which his senses 
demanded so urgently. 

They talked pleasantly for a while, Horace himself, again, 
for Horace was irrepressible except when completely down. 
Horace, so fascinating with his jolly ways and contagious 
laugh, and lover-like devotion to Angelan. 

When they were ready to go. Dr. Angelan waited behind, 
and as Horace left the room went and sat down in front 
of his patient, and looked with an earnest, beseeching in- 
tentness into her face. 

Again, an aurora-like softness suffused her creamy flesh, 
cheek, temple, and brow. 


74 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


Breathing deeply, as if from a troubled heart, he said, im- 
ploringly : 

“ Miss Ward, do as I have asked. Take my friend as 
your physician for a while. Believe me, I would trust you 
to no one else on earth.” 

He did not dream of the intensity of his looks and tones. 

She lifted her eyes daringly, dangerously into his face, 
while something soft and womanly flickered under the 
fringed lids and trembled about the red mouth, and asked : 

“Why do you wish it?” 

Her eyes did not falter as he answered, sternly: 

“I have my reasons.” 

“ Do as you will,” she returned, haughtily. 

Then with sudden keenest scorn, she exclaimed : 

“ Men are all tyrants — every woman I know says so — and 
cowards!” her eyes changed, her whole face changed. A 
frenzy of alarm seemed to seize her. 

“ Let me go !” she shrieked, and, as if fancying some one 
was holding her, she would have struck her white teeth 
into her beautiful wrist ; but Dr. Angelan thrust his hand 
between and received them into his own. And the pain 
was as nothing to the agony of seeing her thus, again. 

He held her firmly for a moment, saying soothingly : 

“ Miss Ward, be calm” — the voice lifted her eyes to his, 
as it always did — “be calm, my patient.” 

He had such bowels of compassion for her ! 

Her whole being seemed to yield; she stretched forth 
her hands ; her eyes lost their gleam ; she looked adoringly 
into his face and pleaded, piteously: 

“ My lover, rescue me, rescue me!” 

The thrilling whisper sent almost a terror through him, 
and yet an instantaneous radiance illumined his face. 
With sudden rapture, she exclaimed : 

“ Ah, mother, see his eyes, are they not heavenly ! See 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


75 


how royal he is, what length of limb, what breadth of chest, 
what nobleness of brow ! and that crest of light-brown hair, 
and that royal beard ! My king, unshackle me, let me go 
free!” 

With such raying did she torture his soul and bring 
him face to face with a still more bewildering temptation 
than the one he found in himself. For indeed those wide, 
dark eyes that were gazing so imploringly into his seemed 
to hold in their dangerous depths something for him, for 
the man she had claimed, from the first moment she had 
looked on him, as her lover. 

She moved toward him as if drawn by some overmaster- 
ing power, her face suffused with a melting sweetness, her 
whole presence seeming to yield to him, body and soul, the 
whisper, ‘^My lover, rescue me!” coming in a blissful way 
from her trembling lips. 

The enchanting, panting whisper touched his soul with 
fire, and he would pray to God to strengthen him and take 
the mad thing out of this beautiful dear one, dear to him, 
now, as the honor by which he held her from him. 

His prayer was always thus : 

My God, let me be instrumental in the recovery of this 
precious one; let my treatment prove efficacious to the re- 
covery of this beloved one,” and the prayer would unbidden 
and unceasingly come from his burdened soul. And the 
conviction that she would be well would come along with 
it. His power is sufficient. He can do it.” The promise, 
^‘If ye pray with faith, nothing wavering,” was sweet and 
sure to his soul. 

The next day Eleanor Ward came out of unconsciousness 
and found Dr. Angelan holding her at arm’s length, and 
with a look as though he would put the world between 
them if he had the power to do so. 

As soon as her strength relaxes he discovers she is lucid. 


76 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


She does not withdraw herself from him, but lets him drop 
her hands, which he does when he finds she is entirely 
herself. 

“You looked so horrified; what have I been doing?’' 

She was trembling violently and she was very pale, and 
there was still a bewildered light in her eyes. 

His face was full of pain and perplexity ; he bit his red 
under-lip until it bled, and his voice was stern as he an- 
swered : 

“Miss Ward, if you knew how it pained me you would 
not ask me such questions.” 

She looked at him a moment, wistfully — this superb 
creature — and a great tear gathered and fell ; then she an- 
swered, simply as a little child : 

“My kind physician, I will never grieve you so, again.” 

His great heart rose fiercely within him. He felt des- 
perate and hedged in. 

He could have fallen at her feet and begged her to tell 
him the thought which had brought the tear and the child- 
like submission. But he dared not, this man of honor, this 
Christian gentleman dared not. Was she not his patient? 
What right had he to know her thoughts, except the wild 
ravings that divulged to him much — but of that much 
what might there be but the hallucination of a disordered 
brain ? 

She was lucid the next day when he went to her by 
special request; and she was haughty, but there was a 
slumbering splendor in her eyes. She began to say, per- 
emptorily, with the air of a queen: 

“ Dr. Angelan, I began under your treatment, and I wish 
to continue under it,” but the man’s whole presence as he 
stood before her changed voice and face, and she cried, as 
with a sudden rush of feeling : 

“Oh, best of friends, do not desert me!” then: “Dr. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


77 


Angelan, I have been an indulged child, I cannot brook 
being crossed. If I do not have my wish in this, I shall go 
back — back — into that; just think, kind friend, what it 
might be to me — to them!’* 

He seemed to realize it, too. Yes, he would make the 
sacrifice; torture, day on day. Some thought at the root of 
it, irradiated his face; he extended his hand, reassuringly. 
In an instant her eyes were on the purple scar her teeth 
had made. In sudden alarm, she asked : 

“Dr. Angelan, what made that scar?” He did not know 
it was exposed; ofE his guard, he cried out, sternly: 

“What is that to you. Miss Ward? Your curiosity is 
torturing.** 

Instantly, as if shocked, and yet convinced of the truth 
of what she uttered, she cried in a tone of anguish: 

“Dr. Angelan, my teeth made that scar! Ah! for the 
love of heaven, keep me from doing so. How could I have 
hurt you ! ** The beseeching cadence, the vehement softness 
of her tones as they lingered on the word “you,** the an- 
guished pleading in her eyes, almost dazed him for a mo- 
ment. 

“ Oh, Dr. Angelan, when I am violent put me where I 
cannot harm you!** again the simple word “you** sent 
the dizziness, and things seemed unsubstantial beneath 
him. She went on in tones that sounded like melody to 
him: 

“ Who have been so good to me every day I have been in 
this place. Oh, do you think I do not know it?** This 
imperial creature filled with gratitude ! The melody went 
on: “Mrs. Mathers has told me how tireless and faithful 
you have been.** As she looked into his face something in 
it made her say, reverently, though the words seemed but 
an echo, and had only that moment found a meaning for 
her: “ ‘A stranger and ye took me in’ — oh! do not let me 


78 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


harm you.” And she fell to weeping as if her heart would 
break. 

She sometimes had these storms of tears, great rains 
that seemed always to leave her soul fresher — body and 
brain fresher for days. 

Those paradisiacal days, when he basked in all the glory 
of her presence, in all the richness of her returned reason ; 
days together when he would detect no aberration, days 
together when his soul was melted within him at the exu- 
berance of her joys; for he had told her, and made her 
comprehend, that they were not penniless, that her mother 
had told him so, and it was really the case. He had con- 
vinced her against the evidence of her own senses that it 
was her imagination, and that her mother did not tell her 
they were penniless unless she yielded to Algernon Hast- 
ings. Days, when he noted the eager expectancy with which 
she looked forward to the time when he should pronounce 
the magical sentence that would open those doors for her; 
days, when his heart almost died within him at the thought 
of pronouncing the magical sentence. 

Did God send her, here, to take her away again out of his 
life, and thus put His cross upon him? St. John Angolan’s 
soul rose to the emergency; he repudiated the thought, 
‘^God is love; I will take His yoke upon me.” 

But, oh, God, could he go on with his work? The Com- 
forter whispers : ‘‘ The burden becomes light if we willingly 
take it. ” Blessed consolation ! 


CHAPTEE IV. 


S HE was busy painting a picture ; only for amusement, 
recreation, a tender little object. A picture of Eeg- 
gie from memory, to keep in her room, she said. 

Dr. Angelan, standing by as she was giving it the finish- 
ing touches, said, dreamily : 

“ It is exquisite,'* but his eyes were on the drooping head 
and tender face above the canvas. Presently, he added : 
‘^Do not finish it." 

‘‘ But, Dr. Angelan, I have only a few more strokes, and 
I want it so — every line and curve, just as he is." 

There was something touchingly pathetic in the proud 
young face whenever she alluded to them — mother, and 
Eeggie — and her eyes as she raised them to him, now, were 
full of liquid light. He breathed deeply; a trembling, 
struggling sigh of joy and pain. Her voice, its infiections, 
and her face in all of its changing expressions had for him 
such a power that he sometimes stood in her presence as 
one in a dream. 

Her beautiful hand hovered about the lovely boy face. 

A smile, tender and sweet, came again on her red mouth. 
He was mad enough to wish that he might lay his lips to 
the moist, parted ones. 

Suddenly, he said : 

“ You must work no more, this evening, at any rate," his 
eyes had a strange light in them, and his voice was husky. 
Then taking the brush from her hand and removing the 
easel, he asked : 


79 


80 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


“Now, what had you rather do for a recreation? I my- 
self shall see that you have just what you want. ” He looked 
on her, his face aglow, and she answered back with a look 
full of animated interest. 

“ Shall it be a walk, or a ride? You are going out.” 

Before he could utter another word, she exclaimed, rap- 
turously : 

“A ride! oh, for a ride on horseback, to be on horseback 
in the free, bright sunshine, once more 1 To be on my own 
beautiful mare’s back, would be life! I tell you, it would 
be life to me!” 

He saw the eagerness, he heard something in the ringing 
tone, and he felt that this ride would, indeed, be life to 
her, so he answered with almost as much eagerness : 

“ You shall. Miss Ward ; you shall ride on your own horse 
as soon as it is possible to get her here.” 

When he was gone, Eleanor would have Mrs. Mathers ring 
for Kitty, and with excited inconsiderateness had her search 
for her riding-habit, and when, of course, it could not be 
found she was angry, and declared it was an outrage that 
she was not allowed to have her maid to attend to her 
things. But seeing Mrs. Mathers’ grave look, she was 
penitent in a moment and said with that insinuating sweet- 
ness which gave her such youth : 

“Dear madam, forgive me; I will remain quiet and rest. 
I know Dr. Angolan will have it all right, and like the 
magic of a fairy tale my habit will come with my horse.” 

And it was, indeed, so; though there was some unavoida- 
ble delay which Eleanor bore wonderfully, and they did 
not get their ride until the next morning. 

She was superb on horseback. Dr. Angelan, unwilling to 
trust her to any one else, went with her himself. She 
looked to him with such entire dependence that he felt it 
a demand upon him to do these things for her himself ; 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


81 


he seemed to owe it to her as a duty. Or, was human love 
making the “ way'’ less distinct to him ? 

He had magnificent walks and drives through his 
grounds for the benefit of the poor creatures cast there 
upon his mercy. As they rode an enthusiasm grew in 
their faces. 

Vfas it in the hazy, fieecy heavens that bended above 
them, with now and then a glimpse of intense blue; or in 
the wandering airs that brought the vernal freshness to 
their senses; or in the trembling trees with the soffc sun- 
light infiltering their tufts and plumes of tender green; 
or in the throbbing note of the dove — a plaintive, touching 
appeal, faint and far off; or was it in all things that these 
two felt this languid June morning, around, about them, 
and in themselves, that made the man’s eyes burn with an 
intense light, and the woman’s beam with a clear radiance 
he had never seen in them before? 

They had ridden deep into the handsome body of woods 
where he had made drives under the stately trees, old, old 
as the hills about them. He had ceased to regard her with 
a vigilant attention, but he looked deep into the eyes that 
looking back into his made him tremble with the very in- 
tensity of his feelings. Was she conscious of it? This 
morning they spoke to him unutterable things. 

He could hear her cry ^^My lover! my lover!” and even 
as she talked with him, he could see her outstretched 
arms. 

He halted suddenly, catching her rein. 

Shall we return?” he asked, with sudden sternness. 

The same note was in his voice as when he answered her 
questions that pained him, the same cloud on his face, the 
same pained resolution. 

She caught her breath in a deep, quick respiration, and 
cried : 


6 


82 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


“You do not mean it! How could you be so cruel?" 
How could he indeed, to her, and to himself? As she saw 
his face soften, she added, joyously: 

“ Do you not see how it is strengthening me, the sky, 
the air, the woods, these deep, deep woods!" she drew in 
another blissful respiration, and with it came the words, 
“ Life comes back to me." 

The voice and the words, the eyes that were in his with 
their mysterious communings, the sweet, eager breath that 
was on his cheek as he held her rein, made him all the 
more firm. 

“ Yes, I see how it has strengthened you, but we must 
now take that strength back with us," and he smiled 
warmly into the soft eyes which were, even now, showing 
that she was yielding to his better judgment (" How wise 
he is," she was inly saying, “ how grand !"), “ and not squan- 
der it in another mile or two. To-morrow, perhaps, we 
may go further. " 

And they did go further on the morrow ; deep into the 
tangled, moss-grown wooded ways. Silence profound, 
broken only by the horses’ hoofs on the soft turf and his 
low, deep voice ; the cadence of his tones mingling with 
the breaths of woven wind and scent — the faint, sweet odor 
of the wild grape blent with the delicious coolness of the 
deep, deep woods. 

He was telling, her of a heroic deed, and her breath 
scarcely came, her heart seemed catching it. She must 
lose none of the grandeur of his looks ; his luminous eyes 
were on her for the most of the time, and when he looked 
away, which was not for long, she felt as if a part of the 
sunlight was shut away from her vision. 

He was saying, dreamily, and yet with that clear ring 
which sounded there, sometimes: 

“ It was a wonderful thing for him to do, and yet as 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


S\ 


nothing in comparison with that which the One for whose 
sake he did it, had done for him — the Christ.” 

The story had touched her deeply, and now, with dilated 
eyes and intense interest, she breathed : 

“The Christ!” Wonder, awe, and curiosity all coming 
with the heart-smothered words. It was as though he had 
mentioned a strange and m3^sterious character, though she 
had heard of Him all her life. His luminous eyes still 
rested on her with a mild effulgence, she trembled under 
them, and her face was suffused with a sudden burning 
shame as he uttered in solemn tones: 

“ You do not know Him. He does not belong to your 
world. Ah! my dear young friend, to be without Christ 
in the world, what a pitiable state!” 

She never forgot that day and hour. It was the very 
first time in all her life that she ever felt any need for the 
Christ of whom she had so often heard — clad in her silken 
garments, with fiutter of state and fashion, and swellings 
and risings of holy music, and shimmer of frosted lights. 
But the sound of the gospel had come and gone as a dream 
of the night. His voice now seemed to catch and hold the 
solemn tones of the minister, when that last Sabbath, in 
his robes of silk and leaning on his gorgeously bedecked 
velvet desk, he had preached, “ Pride goeth before destruc- 
tion and a haughty spirit before a fall.” 

There is where she had gotten them, those words that 
had sunk like molten lead into her brain. 

A shiver ran through her whole frame. She blanched, 
and begged with pale lips, “ Let us go back, now ! Dr. 
Angelan, I feel faint and cold.” 

His face was radiant and he said, resoundingly: 

“ That need not dismay you ! How may you know Him, 
except He sees fit?” Then suddenly changing, he said, 
cheerily : 


84 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


On the contrary, my patient, we will ride deeper, and 
we will reach an opening — on there,” pointing off with his 
riding- whip. I will show you something that will bring 
the warm blood back into your veins, and old wine were 
not more potent than the draught you shall drink.” 

And touching their horses, they started off at a swift 
gallop, he leading the way under the low-hanging boughs, 
and in a few moments they were in a wide opening. 

The river with its broad, calm waters lay placidly in the 
soft evening glow ; a faint line of hills, far away, stretched 
like a silver mist along the radiant west; soft summer 
clouds floated away, glinted with silver, and roseate with 
the dying sunset glory. A slowly sailing bird was stretch- 
ing her wings, and dropping, dropping, to her home in the 
clefts of the rocks. 

‘‘That gallop, and this!” her voice was melody, “yes, 
they have brought to me, life I Dr. Angelan, I shall never 
forget this ride as long as I live!” What impelled her to 
say it? What prompted the saying of it? Was it that 
innate coquetry for which that world of hers was but a hot- 
bed — that coquetry which in a beautiful woman of the 
world is fostered and grown, and becomes the motive of 
her being? Was it this coquetry which prompted the 
words, and the looks, and the tones, as she now spoke to 
him? Could anything so base touch the heart-spring of 
this grave, deep man, and make it throb with such a deli- 
cious pain? 

“And now we will gallop back, for, see! the evening is 
upon us.” 

Even as he spoke a young moon peered timidly out of 
the light in the west, and one pale star trembled near 
her. 

Miss Ward did not turn at once; her eyes were on the 
crystalline sea along the distant hills. Dr. Angelan was 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


85 


waiting for her; and he was watching her with an intense 
light in his eyes, and a flush above the soft, silky beard. 
They were on an eminence, and her horse stood at a short 
distance from his. Her superb flgure was vividly outlined 
against the lucid sky, horse and rider a marvel of symmetry 
against the opaline splendor of the sky, and her face in 
the evening glow was dazzling in its fairness and bloom. 

As she turned to him, his eyes were full of something 
that made the glad color flame up over her radiant face. 

She touched her horse, and he leaped into the road. In 
an instant, St. John Angelan was beside her. Keeping at 
an even gallop with her, he asked: 

‘‘Miss Ward, do you in any degree realize with what a 
beautiful form God has clothed you?” 

She looked into his face in a startled way. Could he, 
could he be dealing in that low thing with which her world 
surfeited her? Ah, no ; nothing but serious, earnest regard 
was there, and the flush was still burning above the silken 
brown beard. 

There was a joyous gurgle in her tones, and a glad light 
in her eyes as she answered, almost breathlessly: 

“Do you not think it — that I am vain? Ah, I am so 
glad!” then after a deep, indrawn breath, she added: 
“ Sometimes lately,” a quivering sigh, “I have thought 
that I must be intensely vain and selflsh,” and her eyes 
were self-accusing too, and deprecating, and there was a 
break in her voice. Then she said, lightly: 

“As for instance, when my hair falls thus,” in the gallop 
it had shaken from its conflnement and, tangled, clung like 
a glistening web about her shoulders, and fell in burnished 
curls below her waist, “I know this is rare; and these,” 
touching the soft fluffs on her forehead with the pearl hoof 
on her riding-whip, “ I can see it is flne and beautiful, and,” 
looking daringly into his face, and yet with a shy flush on 


86 


A LATTER BAY SAINT. 


her cheek, “ I glory in them. I admire and enjoy them 
as I do everything that is exquisite and rare. And my 
hand, and my arm,” she held up the shapely members, “ I 
enjoy in the same way; and my face when I am before my 
mirror, just as I would a picture.” 

His eyes beamed with a mild radiance upon her, and he 
said, not at all conscious that he used her name : 

“ Do you know, Eleanor, that is your chief charm — your 
genuineness then added, scarcely conscious of her startled 
and bewildered look, and the aurora flush that made her 
so wondrously fair, “ You do not try to conceal, you are 
open as the day. I can read you as a book,” and he smiled 
that rare, gracious smile of his, that parted the red under- 
lip from its fellow, and showed a gleam of white under the 
soft, brown mustache. 

Something impelled her to say, while the flush deepened 
on the dawn-tinted cheek, and a smile, tender and regretful, 
trembled about the sweet mouth: 

‘‘ Oh, how little you know of the chapters of the book,” 
and she looked wistfully into the eyes that were still beam- 
ing on her with their mild effulgence. Then she added — 
and it was for her to say, doubtless, for she was certainly 
not conscious of the question until it was on her lips — it 
was not at all pertinent, and the words came quickly, as if 
from some sudden impulse : 

“You said the other day, ‘There is a book I hold more 
dear than aught else on earth;’ what book is that?” and it 
seemed to her as if she had said something strange to her 
own ears. 

“If I give you one, will you read it, read it diligently?” 
in his earnestness halting and catching her rein, and halt- 
ing her. 

“Is it the Bible?” she asked; then added, with almost 
annoyed earnestness, “It is so dull,” and then she raised 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


87 


her eyes to his again, and there was almost an apology in 
them, as he asked, gravely: 

“Dull?’' Loosening her rein, and touching his horse 
they sped on again; “Dull, dull?” he repeated and reiter- 
ated, kindling, and there was something flashing in his eye 
like the stars above them in the evening sky — “ dull did you 
say? Dull, with its gigantic mysteries; its marvellous re- 
lation of events; its soul-inspiring revelations ! The word 
of God dull!” her face was burning under his gaze. 

“What intelligent mind can take in its first chapters 
without a feeling of interest and awe? Its story of the 
creation, the calling into existence of the world ; that un- 
fathomable mystery of the word of an invisible, intangible, 
but omnipotent Being, which brought forth from day to 
day, yea, in six days, the all that we now behold,” point- 
ing abroad with a sweeping hand, around, above, “aye, 
and all that we shall ever know of this magnificent earth 
and the millions of worlds in the firmament of heaven!” 

He paused a moment, and then went on : 

“And the story of the great rains, when the windows of 
heaven were opened, and waters deluged the earth; and 
the God-fearing ISToah who had heeded his Lord’s word 
was saved, floating upon the face of the deep, he and his! 
And its histories of grand and powerful captains, valiant 
and true — its Joshua, who could command even the sun and 
the moon, and they obeyed his behest! And its Elijah, the 
breath of whose soul brought the fires from heaven and 
proclaimed his God in the face of idolatry, and the thought 
of whose exit from this world almost takes one’s breath 
from him ! And its men of strength and beauty, Samson 
and Absalom, whose lives were full of romance. And its 
wonderful temple at the splendor of which even the Queen 
of Sheba marvelled; and its cunning builders who used no 
tools; and its wiser architect who sat upon its judgment 


88 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


seat and dispensed such wisdom as was never before, nor 
has ever been since!” They were sweeping along; his fine 
shoulders were slightly thrown back, and his head turned 
so that his gaze beamed full upon her in the evening glow. 
She was hanging, breathless, on his words, the crimson still 
on her cheek, burning there with something like shame at 
her ignorance of this old, old book, this grand book, she 
was sure it must be, to kindle such a look on St. John An- 
golan’s face. 

His voice grew mellower, as he went on : 

“Dull, with its history of such loves as Jacob for Eachel, 
Isaac for Eebecca, and Boaz for Euth; and friendship’s 
strongest type, the beautiful, disinterested, courageous love 
of Jonathan for David!” 

His voice fell and became reverent as he went on : 

“ And that unsurpassed love, that love which passeth all 
understanding, the love of the Son of God for poor, 
wretched, rebellious, ungrateful sinners! Why, Miss Ward, 
the history of the ma7i Christ Jesus is sufficient of itself to 
arrest the interest of any man or woman. Those illu- 
minated pages of His teachings. His healings. His raisings 
from the dead ! Glorious history of God. dwelling with us 
in the flesh, friend, brother, man of sorrows. Saviour!” his 
voice had something in it that brought the tears to her eyes. 

“ And then the grand tragedy of the cross when He shed 
His precious blood, and for me!” his voice rang out clear 
on the evening air and almost startled her in its sudden ap- 
plication, “aye, I have been made partaker of that hope.” 

“ Give me the book. I wish to read it, I promise to read 
it,” the words came in a rush, without any volition of her 
own, and her face was burning with shame -at the strange, 
excited eagerness which she knew he must see. 

“I will. I will,” he reiterated in deep tones, “and may 
His Holy Spirit open the book to you.” 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


89 


As they rounded the drive, and were passing one of the 
gates, Teddy was gesticulating, wildly, to some object on 
the outside, that seemed to be reaching through for help. 
Teddy’s voice was rolling in a volume of overwhelming 
contemj)t. 

‘‘Be of — be of wid ye! ye dirty, desaving, ondacent 
chreathure, thotcon’t so much as spake so as a dacent mon 
con tell what ye are afther, wid yer Frinch, er yer Atalien, 
er yer Germany! No good, ye may be shure, fur oil yer 
face seems to be a stharvin’, ond — ond — it bothers me so to 
be a-tournin’ ye awaye from respectable quoorters. Be of !’* 

“Teddy!’’ The voice, its inflections, made the readily 
convicted, burly young Irishman’s bowels yearn with com- 
passion toward the woman, outside. Well he knew what 
that voice meant for him. 

“ Teddy,” it said, in his heart, “did I so turn you away 
from my gates?” 

“Faith — ond — ond — Misther Ongelan, Oi hev but farty 
cints, ond she shall hev thot. Theere, pooer chreathure,” 
he exclaimed, with nervous haste, “ take it, ond — maye my 
oyes niver rist upon ye aghen, thot I maye not remimber 
the sin of this daye.” 

Both Eleanor and St. John could have laughed, but for 
the evident distress and gratitude of the poor creature out- 
side. 

“Open the gates, Teddy, and let her in; we will see 
where she belongs.” Teddy knew this meant to feed and 
clothe and send her on her way rejoicing. 

But the inherent indifference and dormant enviousness 
at the bottom of every vagabond’s heart, and the munifi- 
cence he had just displayed toward her, made Teddy rebel- 
lious about letting her in, and he opened the gate ungra- 
ciously, holding it so she had just to squeeze through the 
aperture. 


90 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


That night when Teddy was moving about the room, 
making everything comfortable for him, Dr. Angelan said : 

“ Teddy, I want to read you a short chapter.” 

And as he read Teddy’s heart burned within him; and 
when Dr. Angelan ’s low, impressive voice articulated, 
“Woman, where are those thine accusers?” the convicted 
man blubbered : 

“ Ond it’s thrue, Misther Ongelan, it’s thrue — the praist 
himself was niver so sarching as ye be.” 

“Teddy, do not forget it, hereafter,” was all he said, and 
Dr. Angelan fell to reading, aloud, some Psalm in conso- 
nance with his own feelings. And all the while he read, the 
convicted soul was more deeply troubled. 

The keen little Irish eyes watched the grand face above 
the Bible, hungrily, and now and then Teddy would draw 
his great red hand across under his nose for the moisture 
which had its source in the feelings that were swelling his 
bosom, an upward sniff making an incongruous sound 
with the sweetly solemn tones that seemed almost filling the 
room with holy music. 

The next day Kitty and Teddy met on a landing where 
the light fell on her in such a way that Teddy felt his 
heart go up in a great bound. 

“Hould, Mistress Kitty! Ye don’t looke so proud this 
marning, ond — ond — Oi’ve a sacret thot Oi wad loike for 
ivery wan to knowe.” 

“ The loon!” she uttered, scornfully, but Teddy was not 
to be repressed. He exultingly exclaimed : 

“ I shall niver get thrunk onny mooer.” 

This was something to make Kitty relent; she gave her- 
self away to a look and attitude of tolerance. 

Then in a mysterious whisper, distinct and impressive, 
Teddy went on : 

“ Oi seen me owen ghost last noight.” 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


91 


Teddy’s voice and manner convinced her, and now Kitty 
stood with eyes full of wonder and awe. 

‘‘ Yis, me darlint, me beauteeful Misthress McNamarra, 
be the Vargin Maery, theere it stood roight in the middle 
av the rooem, wheere the moonloight cams from the long 
windy — ond — ond — it had the smell o’ sulphar, ond it was 
oil a blue Icight itself, all but its v’ice, ond thot wos me 
own, ond it said to me, ‘Teddy, Oi’m back,’ ond quicker 
nor thot,” with an excited snap of his blunt red thumb 
and middle finger, “ Oi knowed it was mee ghost, that had 
been theere., and bock. Shure, ond it sed aghen” — he re- 
peated the words in a slow stage whisper — “‘Teddy mee 
bye, quit yer ways, thrunkards is theere!’ Kitty, it’s 
thrue,” and on his homely yearning face there was a look 
of settled conviction, “something cam to me in the tourn 
ov the noight, ond — ond — it c’u’d not hev bin in mee 
drames, fur me oyes wos woide oopen, ond it c’u’d not hev 
bin in mee slape, fur mee ears wos woide oopen — ond it 
sed, ‘Teddy, quit yer ways, thrunkards is theere.,'^ ond Oi 
onswered, lowed, in the middle o’ the noight, ‘Oi’ll do it, 
Teddy mee bye, Oi’ll do it,’ ” his whole soul in the roll- 
ing vernacular. “ Ond wad ye bee-lave it — whist, quicker 
nor thot” (another snap of the finger and thumb) “ it was 
gon’, ond it was meeself thot wos stohding in the middle 
av the flooer oil over a trimble, ond a cowld sweat, but a 
reputing for all the worruld loike the telling av me hades, 
‘Oi’ll do it, Oi’ll do it, Teddy mee bye.’ Wad ye bee-lave 
it, Misthriss Kitty, me swate?” and in his beseeching ten- 
derness Teddy was very near the face which had not for 
weeks had that soft look for him ; and before either one 
was aware of it, Teddy’s lips had taken what it seemed at 
that moment the world could not have held him from, but 
a resounding box upon the ear was what he smarted under 
for days. 


92 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


Kitty rebelliously turned from him, exclaiming : 

“ Ond it was fur thot, ye tould me the pitiful tale! Oi’m 
thot mod with ye, Oi c’u’d woish niver to spake to ye onny 
mooer! A dacent girrul,’' with resentful emphasis, ‘^to 
be waylayered ond misthreated in this fishion!” and she 
strode from him, angrily. But she dashed a hot tear from 
her eye ; something was burning in her heart. He was so 
true to her — and she had but that very morning seen Alonza 
flirting with a pert miss who had gotten to be lady of the 
door-bell since she had been kept so closely with Miss Ward. 
Teddy, she was sure would never have a look for any one 
but herself, and she knew now he would never get drunk 
anymore.” “But Teddy was so bastely uggly — his leigs 
wurr so shorrt, his waist was so lonng, ond his face was so 
ridd — ond so was his hayer, ond his cluths wurr so staingy 
ond mane (but his hearrut — that was so warrum).’' And 
Alonza, oh, he was like a prince in fairy tale, or the veri- 
table coachman created for the benefit of the lovely and 
fortunate Cinderella. 

As he sat upon Mrs. Ward’s handsomely mounted car- 
riage, he seemed a part of the elegance that made it such a 
striking and stylish turnout. His clothes were immaculate 
and his face a picture ; or so it seemed that day weeks ago, 
when he had first smiled a daring and audacious recogni- 
tion to the slim, large-eyed waitress who answered his ring. 
And as, day after day he made his appearance, Kitty quite 
lost her head ; her heart, that staunch Irish member, had 
nothing to do with it, poor girl! and a desperate affair 
grew in a week, of which, even Teddy was ignorant for a 
time. 

Kitty was a beauty of the fairest Irish type, and Alonza 
was a connoisseur. So things stood, and only Kitty knew 
it, and revelled in the secret she did 7iot want everybody to 
know. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


93 


For days Teddy is listless. He inoves about with an 
aimlessness that is pitiful, and now and then with watery 
eyes. Dr. Angelan fears it is the old temptation strong 
upon him again. He strengthens him by word and look, 
and in secret prays for him, and he rejoices that he sees no 
sign of yielding in his poor Irish friend. 


CHAPTER V. 


D r. ANGELAN’S advice brought Margaret home 
much sooner than she had intended. She loved 
this most lovable husband with an almost idolatrous 
love. It maddened her beyond endurance that she could not 
break the bond which held him to this work of which she 
was so jealous. She vainly imagined that if it were not 
for this, she might have him continually with her, and his 
ideas would become more lenient, and they two, would be 
happy. 

Happy! had this young thing any idea of the magnitude 
of the word? sacrifice on sacrifice, until the height is 
reached? Ah no, happiness to her seemed but the indul- 
gence of all the desires of her unsanctified soul. Misguided 
human nature ! — this is but misery and ruin. 

This untutored soul longed for this husband of hers to 
be her devoted slave, to follow her, to worship her as he 
had done in those delirious days before their marriage. 
She longed for him to witness her triumphs, and make her 
triumph more complete by showing to her world her power 
over her husband’s senses, as she had shown them her power 
over her lover’s senses. 

This was the bitterest disappointment of Margaret 
Swayne’s life, that her husband denied her his presence 
everywhere. 

In the bitterness of her heart she said everywhere^ but a 
something sweet and contradictory would struggle up, as 
she could but remember the delicious drives he had taken 
her ; and in the softness of spring days, and the sultriness 

94 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


95 


of summer days, and the mellowness of October days, they 
had taken the nurse and the children and gone to some 
lovely, quiet spot and spent a long, beautiful day, forgetting 
everything save each other and their little ones, the one so 
like the father, the others so like the mother. Only at such 
times, Margaret Swayne felt no need. 

0 yes, if she had allowed herself she could have remem- 
bered many, many times when Horace had put aside every- 
thing to give her a day of pleasure. But not where her 
pride could triumph, at balls, at theatres, at races, at operas. 
This hot-blooded, but high-souled young husband might, 
under the stress, in the impulse of the moment, do some- 
thing God-dishonoring, but never, deliberately, would he 
walk in the ways of the world. 

They were together in her luxurious chamber, their little 
ones about them. 

She was running her fingers through the short fiaxen 
brown curls, now and then stooping to kiss passionately 
the face in her lap. From the fatigues of the day and the 
bliss of the moment, he had fallen into a light slumber. 
He was saying dreamily, “ So sweet ! so sweet. Margaret, 
shall we ever quarrel again?” 

‘‘ Please forgive me, Horace, I was so determined. But 
I wanted you so, oh! I wanted you!” He roused; he was 
astounded at her words. “ What did I care for him ? I 
could have spurned him with my foot. I had dressed for 
you; oh, such tender, longing feelings ! I thought perhaps 
— perhaps, if I made myself fair in your colors, and with 
my shoulders and arms veiled, you could not resist me, and 
would go. You did not even notice it — oh ! it was such 
bitter disappointment, and your words were so terrible!” 

Horace raised himself, sat erect, and drawing her vehe- 
mently to him, he looked earnestly down into her eyes, and 
exclaimed with quick fervor : 


96 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


“ I will try to be strong when crossing your wishes, I 
will try to be strong, my beloved.” 

The next morning Horace was radiant when he went to 
his work. 

He was so genial and delicious, ‘‘so lovely,” as Miss 
Ward’s liquid tones pronounced him, that Dr. Angelan lost 
himself in his enjoyment of his old-time Horace. When 
he was about to part with him for the night, St. John said: 
“I wonder if Mrs. Swayne would not come to see Miss 
Ward? I would like to see what effect the presence of an 
acquaintance would have upon her, one that would bring 
something of the world in which she has moved.” 

Horace’s forehead drew into two decided lines above his 
large, well-shaped nose ; laboring with his perplexity only 
for a moment, he cleared, and answered buoyantly: 

“ In her softened mood, perhaps she might.” 

That night Teddy was sent, in haste, for Dr. Swayne; 
one of the inmates had grown suddenly worse, and Dr. 
Swayne was wanted, too. 

It was a dripping night, and Teddy stood just inside the 
hall while the maid delivered the message. 

The doors were wide, and a delicious scene made Teddy’s 
mouth water, and his great big Irish heart leap up with a 
bound that almost choked him, as he thought of how Kitty 
and he might, some day, be. Kot so fine; ah no, never 
that. Not so grand; ah no, never that — no such visions 
ever entered his wildest imaginings — but as happy, oh yes, 
as happy ! 

“ It is mean, it is selfish!” 

Teddy pricked up his ears. 

“ It is mean, I say, Horace Swayne, and I despise that 
horrid asylum, and Dr. Angelan is a beast.” Teddy’s heart 
stood still, then a bound — would it be that way with Kitty 
and him? 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


97 


‘‘My dear, command yourself, the servants are listen- 
ing,’' warned Horace, with quickly rising anger. 

“Oh yes, ‘command yourself,’ ” she answered, jeeringly; 
“ it is easy to say ‘command yourself but not so easy to do 
it, when I am rudely broken in upon, and robbed of every- 
thing by that man you idolize, that man, with his hypo- 
critical ” 

“ Margaret, hush!” his voice was almost like a blow. 

Teddy discreetly, and with nervous haste, stepped out- 
side and pulled the door to, cautiously. 

The wife gave a stifled shriek as the husband slammed 
the door and strode through the hall. 

Teddy got quickly down the marble steps, and was on 
the pavement when Dr. Swayne came out. They walked 
a square, rapidly striding, Teddy’s short legs giving a kind 
of hop, now and then, to get the step. 

Then Horace Swayne wheeled about, strode back rapidly, 
passing door after door of the marble fronts, until he came 
to his own. He sprang up the white steps two at a bound, 
flung his umbrella aside, opened the door with a wrench, 
cleared the hall with swift strides, and reached his wife’s 
side before the passion of sobs had yet subsided. 

“ Margaret, love, I remembered my promise. God be 
thanked, I can be strong when you are weak ! Look up, 
beloved,” pulling her hands with eager, grasping fingers 
from her face. “The kiss of peace!” the demand was in 
such tones, and the arms about her were so warm, that 
Margaret’s face was up like a flower to the sun for the 
gaze that she knew was upon her. 

“And now good-by — one more kiss,” rapturously, “and 
one more! I shall be back as soon as possible.” 

When he caught up with Teddy, which he did very soon, 
for Teddy had been loitering, waiting, dimly imagining 
some such scene as had just occurred — he said, and the 
7 


98 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


quick-witted son of Erin felt, with an emotion that stirred 
and warmed the blood in his veins, what Horace Swayne 
meant : 

“ What a power for good one man’s influence is!” 

Teddy was still waiting when past midnight Dr. Angelan 
came in. 

Teddy had slept and dozed and dreamed of Kitty. These 
dozy naps, waiting for Dr. Angelan, were always fllled with 
Kitty. Sitting with his stubby, stout legs stretched lazily 
out before him, his limp hands falling from time to time 
apart, and clasped again with nervous haste, and Anally 
slipping helplessly by his sides; dozing and nodding and 
catching up with a sudden jerk, almost dislocating his neck, 
and coming plump out of a misty, hazy dream — a sleeping 
thought of Kitty — he would wait, for he could never lay 
himself down to sleep until Dr. Angelan was comfortably 
in his bed. 

To-night his sleepy little blue eyes began to twinkle, half 
with mischief, half with ire, as he told what had occurred 
at Dr. Swayne’s. Teddy’s insistent humor had a flavor 
that St. John Angelan enjoyed intensely, but he would not 
let him go too far. Faith, ond it’s meeself thot wad loike 
to be onn a-quality waith thot wooman! Oi’d gev her a 
pace of me moind, now ond thin ! Beghorry, her tong is 
thot voile ” But Dr. Angelan ’s reproving tones inter- 

rupted him: 

“ Our Bible teaches us, Teddy, to speak evil of no 
man.” 

Faith, ond is it so, Misther Ongelan?” in stage aston- 
ishment, “is the thruth avil? Thin beghorry. Mister 
Ongelan, the howly Boible itself is avil, fur whist ye,” and 
he blinked his eyes with owl-like wisdom, “what Oi’ve 
been a rapating about Misthress Swayne is as thrue as the 
gospel.” 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


99 


Dr. Angelan could not repress a smile at Teddy’s quick 
logic, but he answered, gravely: 

“ Teddy, it is the manner in which you use the truth that 
makes it evil.'' 

Eleanor Ward’s apartments had grown intolerably dull. 
Dr. Angelan had not been in for days. Why did he not 
come? She could settle herself to nothing; she scarcely 
touched her meals; the time was one continual waiting and 
listening — waiting and listening for his step. Why did he 
not come? 

Another day. Might she not have a sight of his face? 

Yes, she would venture out again. 

She had been out several times since that never-to-be- 
forgotten meal. She scarcely knew by what power she was 
swayed. There was a kind of fascination to see what they 
were indeed like, and how it all was in this house of which 
she had been made an inmate, even as'^they were; this, she 
had been made to feel by the strong, gentle matron — even 
as they were., like unto them. And God had been merciful 
to her, in that she was recovering so speedily. This Mrs. 
Mathers tried to make the rebellious young thing realize ; 
and perhaps it was through her firm, tender encourage- 
ment — urging it upon her, that it would be of benefit to 
her in every way to go out, and be thrown with them some- 
times, indeed, daily. 

And there was a feverish desire, too, to get out of the 
four walls. 

They might throng her as they always did, those strange 
creatures with their eager eyes, their hunted eyes, their 
wild, mournful eyes. It seemed to her that their whole 
being was concentrated in their eyes ; after she had left 
them they haunted her, as Eyes. 

But she must go out now, she could bear it no longer, 
the suspense had become intolerable. What ailed him, 


100 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


that he did not come? She must have a sight of his face. 
She would take those flowers with her, — fragrant, beautiful 
flowers that her mother, daily, sent her from home — she 
would take them and divide them out to these women — 
old, some of them, hut little children in helplessness, and 
simplicity of amusement. 

How they seemed to love her, and her flowers ! 

She had them in her arms, great tea roses, sweet and 
heavy of scent, and rich and rare of color and form ; lilies, 
superb, and odorous; long spikes of gorgeous gladioli; and 
delicious, faint-scented violets and mignonette. Hardly had 
she reached the hall when they came flocking around her ; 
their alert attendants scarcely less eager than the poor de- 
mented ones they watched. This grand and gracious 
creature was, to them, like something from another world. 

They came flocking about her, and reached out eagerly 
for the flowers, as she separated them from their fellows, 
and placed them tenderly in their trembling, nervous 
hands; a frightened, pained look in her great shadowy 
eyes, a word or two to them in a hurried, stifled voice. She 
always felt frightened and suffocated when they thronged 
her, chattering their meaningless repetitions of ideas which 
haunted them, and levelling on her all those wild, staring 
eyes. 

She put the flowers in their hands tenderly, though ; and 
they began to fondle and play with them like little children. 

Sometimes she would spend an hour with them in the 
hall, on the verandas; trying to study them, trying to help 
them — trying to find rest, trying to find strength; but 
these hours wearied her more than all the monotony of her 
rooms. 

It was all so revolting, so sickening at times, so nau- 
seating — the sounds, the odors of disinfectants, the sights. 

But Mrs. Mathers gently urged her on, saying: 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


101 


‘‘ Eleanor, see how good God has been to you ; look on 
them — they have had the same medical shill.'* Eleanor’s 
face flushed ; she knew Mrs. Mathers alluded to her hot 
reply, “I rely, alone, on the skill of my physician “then 
go to your glass, and look in your own lovely face to which 
the light of mind and reason has returned.” 

Thus urged, she could not remain in; she would go out, 
and try to feel for them, and to feel grateful for herself. 

And this other incentive : might she not hear something 
of him — see something of him? Why did he not come as 
of old? 

She had treated Dr. Swayne, who had been going to her 
for the last days, with such imperial hauteur, that his high 
spirit rose against it, and he felt almost indignant enough 
to leave her to herself, but his professional fidelity forbade 
this, for he saw that St. John was unable to fill his post. 

He was angry and resentful toward Eleanor Ward, too, 
because he felt that she was in some way the cause of the 
change in St. John. 

Yes, sometimes, she could stay with them, hard as it was. 
This morning her whole soul seemed to rise up against it; 
she felt like turning and fleeing to her room. But the 
desire to see him held her — oh, where was he? Again her 
thoughts were merged in the intense longing which had 
brought her out. She was scanning eagerly the dim reaches 
of the corridors, which branched off from the main hall. If 
she might only see the light fall on his face but for one mo- 
ment ! 

Even as the thought trembled through her. Dr. Angelan 
emerged from an inner room and slowly crossed the hall, 
and was gone. 

Not before the western light had shown her, plainly, his 
countenance in rigid, suffering lines. 

Oh! what could ail him? 


102 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


She went, with rapid steps, back into her room. Her 
heart ached, her temples throbbed. Oh! what could ail 
him? 

The white hands were clasped tightly in her lap ; she 
seemed straggling with some thought. For days before 
he had stopped coming. Dr. Angelan had seemed deeply 
troubled, and had only made professional calls of the lim- 
ited five minutes. What could ail him? If she might 
only know. 

The petty trials of the day came back to her — the 
monotony of breakfast, and dinner, and supper in the same 
room, the four walls that were beginning to seem like a 
prison — and it flitted vaguely through her thoughts how 
different it all was with his presence. The day had been a 
trying one; the clumsiness of Kitty had fretted her, the 
. girl had been so forgetful, too, and preoccupied, and had 
seemed startled and ready to cry at every reprimand ; the 
undisturbed, high repose of the rather stern matron at her 
ungracious complaints of Kitty, and of the poverty of the 
place, and her confinement. These, only came back to 
Eleanor on her trying days. 

Once she had said to Mrs. Mathers, in talking of her 
freedom and her luxuries : 

“ I never thought I could do without them for a day, 
and yet, here I have been living in this circumscribed, sim- 
ple fashion for weeks, and I rather like it. This was when 
St. John Angelan had just left her, and his looks and tones 
were still on her senses. 

To-day she had said, as she had done many times since 
deprived of sumptuous diet, sumptuous dressing, and un- 
restrained goings in and out : 

‘‘ It is an outrage! Why am I confined longer? I wish 
to go home. If I could believe him guilty of such baseness, 
I would think it some scheme ! Why is my mother not 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


103 


allowed to see me? I shall tell Dr. Angelan this very day 
that I wish to go home.,” 

Under such moods Mrs. Mathers only remained grave 
and dignified, and after a while the restlessness would settle, 
and the beautiful patient would fall to painting vigorously, 
or reach for the book he had given her. But its pages had 
no fascination for her, and there was at times a skepticism 
that was pitiful in one so young and lovely. 

How could it he, this voice, these words of an invisible, 
bodiless being — simply a ‘‘Let there be” and there was — a 
calling into existence of worlds on worlds from nothing- 
ness? Absurd! Ah, no, this word of God is not, cannot 
be true. The science of the day is more plausible. 

It was this thought she was laboring with when he came 
in. 

Ah, the glory of his presence! but her pride lifted it- 
self. She spoke to him with haughty indifference, but her 
hands trembled as she toyed with the fiowers in the great 
moss basket on her lap. 

The drooping, dusky fringes lay heavily on the shell- 
tinted cheek ; weighed down by the consciousness that his 
deep eyes were full upon her. 

She laid together a spray, or two, of superb blush waxen 
roses, and after she had breathed deeply of their fragrance 
— and the petals, as they lay against it, seemed to him of a 
piece with the cream and rose fiesh of her face — she pinned 
them to her bodice ; the heavy roses swayed on their long 
stems with the rising and falling of her bosom. 

He touched her wrist for a moment, his fingers icy cold 
on the strong young pulse beneath them. And then he 
asked, pointing to the open book on the table: 

“And is it still dull?” 

There were deep circles under them, but his eyes were 
luminous. 


104 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


“It is so improbable,” she answered, banglitily, glad al- 
most to give him pain. 

He did not speak at once, but sat regarding her, as he 
had gotten to do of late, with an intensity that made her 
face quiver, painfully, and her heart burn within her. 

“Eleanor,” he said, “read it diligently.” His voice as 
he uttered the words, and the unconscious calling of her 
name (so liquid soft on his tongue) gave her heart a great 
throb, then left her with a stifled feeling — and sent an aurora 
flush even to the Hebe-like throat, almost instantly leaving 
her with a pallor which alarmed him. For a moment she 
could not command herself, and then not knowing what the 
words were to be, she answered him, in broken melody, “ I 
will.” 

And as on that day, which she was never to forget, he 
breathed, fervently, 

“May His Holy Spirit open the book to you.” 

His voice and words brought to her, like strains of half- 
forgotten music, memories of mornings, when in all the 
elegance and fashion of Parisian toilets she had gone to 
the grand ediflce to which only such as she sought admit- 
tance; and when thoughts of her great world and its follies 
and vanities were holding her like a chain, words like these 
he had just uttered, came and went like a dream through 
the wanderings of her imagination. 

They touched some other chord, too, for tears gathered 
under the long lashes. She said, as if she had been talking 
on the subject: “Dear little Eeggie, how I long to see him! 
He went with me, sometimes ; he loved to look at the pic- 
tures on the windows and about the chancel, and would 
ask me some queer questions, which I could not in the 
least explain,” and she was smiling, frankly, as a tear trem- 
bled on her soft cheek. 

He answered, gravely : 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


105 


“ I think, Miss Ward, that this ignorance, of which the 
most accomplished are not ashamed — this ignorance of the 
most wonderful book ever known, is unpardonable in our 
day and generation/’ 

Why did she not feel angry and resentful at this just 
rebuke? Simply that she could not; his whole presence 
subdued her. 

His eyes looked supernaturally large and full of light, 
but his mouth was troubled, and his hands were interlocked 
v/ith a clasp that whitened the nails, and his words were 
slow and difficult of utterance. She was, inly, vowing to 
read and believe it. If he believed it, it must be so. 

And she did read and believe it. Not yet as the word of 
the great ‘‘I am, ’’but as a history — the true history of the 
earlier days of the world. 


CHAPTEE VI. 


S HE was deeply touched by the story of Moses, and she 
was impatient to tell Dr. Angelan of it; and chafed 
and fretted because he did not come, again, for a 
day or two. 

He was scarcely seated, when she began, eagerly: 

This God whom you worship and whom I feel, dimly, to 

be what this book claims for Him ” She paused, scarcely 

knowing how to express herself. The eyes resting on her, 
unusually large and luminous, and a soft, compassionate 
something about the whole slightly emaciated face, made, 
what she was about to say easily, and as a matter of course, 
according to her conviction — the eyes and the face made 
it difficult of utterance. 

She continued, hesitatingly, and with an apologetic ap- 
peal in her eyes : 

But at times He seems so unjust — so exacting.'* 

His eyes still rested on her with a mild effulgence that 
almost held her breath, as he answered, melodiously: 

It is because you do not know Him that you can say 
it. ” Then with a sudden kindling of righteous indignation : 
“ What is it — those rebellious children, the Israelites? that 
disobedient, stiff-necked people of His choice, with whom He 
had to deal according to His righteous laws? Is it possible 
you cannot see the justice and wisdom of His punishments?” 

“ Ho,” she answered, stiffening, and as if warmly resenting 
his question, “ no — they deserved it all; but the grand man 

who led them — the perfect man ” 

106 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


107 


“Not perfect, Miss Ward; that applies to but One,” he 
interrupted, but not with stern insistence. 

His lenience of look and tone made her say, in hot, im- 
perious defence of the character, which had impressed her 
as the grandest of which she had ever read : 

“ He was!” Then she went on in a stream: “ His every 
thought was for them — day and night, doing and laboring 
and striving, and trying to get them to keep to this God. 
Bearing all their taunts, and jibes, and complaints — get- 
ting angry only when a just indignation proved the lofti- 
ness of his loyalty to his God. ” His eyes were full of indul- 
gence, and she went on : 

“He ivas perfect — and yet they, those rebellious, un- 
grateful ones, were allowed to go into the beautiful promised 
land by this God, and he, the faithful one, denied that 
grand privilege. What justice could there be in that? He 
punished relentlessly, this grand servant of His for one 
simple act of disobedience — a mere nothing, it seems to me,” 
she still went on in hot defence, and looked defiantly into 
the face whose lineaments had assumed an expression of 
grave rebuke. But now she found it impossible to go on 
under this look, and w^as biting her lip with repressed im- 
patience for him to speak ; which he did, after a little 
while. 

His thoughts, during the moments of almost intolerable 
silence to her, had brought another look into the counte- 
nance, which always held so much meaning for her. 

His eyes were luminous, again, with inward light, and 
dwelt on her with a far-away, mystical gaze; his voice was 
low, but resounding and triumphant. 

“ Yes, He denied him something here,, and I doubt not, 
though we have little mention of it — only, I think, in the 
pathetic reproach to his people. ‘But the Lord was wroth 
with me for your sakes’ — yet, I doubt not that Moses in 


108 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


his human nature felt the disappointment, keenly. But 
how immeasurably,” and his voice expressed, far above 
everything earthly, “how immeasurably,” he reiterated in 
sfcill deeper tones, “ did He exalt this faithful servant ! ‘He 
buried him. ' On that lofty mountain height such funeral 
services were enacted as had never honored man before, or 
shall ever again, I feel assured. Miss Ward,” he said, sud- 
denly, and his eyes emitted a flash of light, “ did naught of 
the glory of that scene occur to you as you read?” 

She answered, hurriedly, as if impelled by a sudden rush 
of thought : 

“ Not until this moment. I had no such idea, I saw 
nothing but ignominious punishment. I begin to compre- 
hend.” And her eyes dwelt on him with such a look of 
entreaty, he was eloquent. “ So Moses the servant of the 
Lord died there. ‘And He buried him in a valley’ — what 
an honor that the sacred ness of the funeral services was 
desecrated by the presence of no mortal man ! He buried 
him ! Methinks the angels of God came on wings of light 
and tenderly swathed the body in its grave-clothes, glister- 
ing and white, as no fuller on earth could white them, and 
then, in a glittering cohort bore it down into the valley, 
and laid it in that sepulchre ‘which no man knoweth unto 
this day!’ ” 

After a pause, he went on a little more vigorously : 

“ ‘He gathered him to his fathers!’ Let me read you of 
the city into which Moses was called to ‘go over;’ ” and he 
reached for the book that was lying in her lap. As he 
turned the pages, he said, in that compassionate voice which 
stirred her inmost soul : 

“Your life has been so full of other things, things so 
different, that perhaps you have failed to see what is prom- 
ised the people of God. ” He had found the place — that was 
easy for this disciple, he knew the book so well — and he 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


109 


laid his hand between the leaves. Again he had his eyes 
on her with the mild effulgence that beamed right from 
his soul. 

This world has been so grand and so beautiful to you, 
and you are yet so young, that it is little wonder you have 
scarcely thought of anything, beyond. Let me read you 
of the Canaan to which the Lord took Moses, His faithful 
servant,” and shaking his shoulders grandly, he lifted the 
book, and read that glorious description of the New Jeru- 
salem. in the Eevelation. 

What St. John Angelan felt, Eleanor Ward felt, dimly 
reflected in her own soul. Had any one else read it to 
her, it might, perhaps, have been as a tale that is told ; but 
the whole presence of the man, the whole life of the man, 
the zealousness of this man of God, and his power over her 
senses, made her feel that there is indeed, just such a 
place prepared for the faithful man of God, and that she, 
now, saw before her one of the future inhabiters of that 
Celestial city. 

Something was stirring in her soul. Was she wondering 
if she, too, might be so blest? If it were so, she was 
scarcely conscious of the vague inquiry. 

The wide, humid eyes were upon him with all their 
meaning in them, when he turned his on her, as he closed 
the book. 

For a moment he held the gaze with that flxed luminous 
look of his, then the words came, exultingly : 

‘‘Was not his loss here, gain?” 

“I cannot follow you. Dr. Angelan, it tires me; and — I 
do not know why, but it troubles me” — she paused for a 
word, then said under her breath, “unspeakably.” 

He beamed upon her, radiantly. 

“How could I have expected it? Excuse me, Eleanor, 
it seems but your due to expect so much of you.” 


110 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


He did not mean it so, but the veriest courtier that 
graced her halls could not say such subtle flatteries. And 
‘‘Eleanor” — what melody there was in the sound as it fell 
from his lips! A blinding radiance from a pair of glorious 
eyes met his gaze, and then the heavy fringes lay on the 
burning cheek. 

He tried to rise. Twice, he made the effort, and when 
he had brought himself up, he almost staggered as he re- 
gained his feet. The lip, that was always so ruby red 
under the incurling, boyish mustache, was colorless now, 
and there was a deathly pallor above the brown beard. 

She rose in alarm, thrusting her shoulder to support 
him. He rested his hand on it, for a moment, saying, 
huskily : 

“Only dizzy;” then with almost superhuman effort, 
“there, it is gone.” 

“Dr. Angelan,” she cried, ‘^you are ill! I have known 
it for days ! Can I do nothing for you ?” Her eyes and her 
voice — its inflections — the weakness threatened him again, 
but he mastered it, and answered : 

“Nothing,” but the words were difficult of articulation. 

“ Oh ! you wear yourself out, you kill yourself for others, 
and yet you deny them the privilege of doing one thing for 
you.” 

He looked so helpless in his painful weakness of the mo- 
ment as he lifted his hand wearily to his head and rubbed 
it across his brow, that she cried out again : 

“ And can I do nothing for you, who have done so much 
for me — nothing?” 

The sound of the words in her tones touched the depths 
of his being, and a prayer went up for strength. 

Oh ! what of earthly bliss was in the very cadence of her 
voice! Surely something must be in this precious heart 
for him, else how could she look so, speak so? He was 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


Ill 


almost mad enough, with the temptation before him, to 
tell her that she alone had the power to do everything for 
him that this life holds most dear, that she had the power 
to bless him far above the measure of his deserts at God’s 
hands on this side of eternity. But the fear of God sealed 
his lips to that, and the great patience, wherewith the Spirit 
was strengthening him, brought the words, “ Not now — 
when the time comes.” 

And long after he had left her she was angry and trou- 
bled under them. 

She fretted and chafed because his strength seemed gone. 
Oh, how she longed to know what ailed him! 

Little did she dream that the physical strength was gone 
with days of fasting and prayer to his God for power against 
her — against lier, in her graciousness and beauty; for if 
he had loved her in her pitiable state, how did she now 
almost overpower his senses, clothed upon with her right 
mind, clad in the royal garments of a queenly young wo- 
manhood ! 

It was not for him to say to this love, “ Be gone,” but to 
take it upon him as his cross for the Master’s sake until 
He saw fit to make its glory his crown. 

In the days that followed, when he did not come. Miss 
Ward treated Dr. Swayne with such an icy indifference, 
that his feelings became so indignant, he wished she had 
never been brought there. And he believed more than ever 
that the change in St. John was all her doing. 

This place was not for such as she, anyway. It was for 
those who were destitute, those who had not where else to 
look for help, who were desolate, and bereft, and possessed, 
and helpless. She was well enough to be removed. He 
would see St. John — St. John! the thought seemed to 
strike a chill through him. He felt that for the life of 
him he could not mention such a thing to St. John. And 


112 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


now incidents, memories of looks and tones and words, 
and chance glimpses of opinions from her, opinions from 
him, made it impossible for him to mention such a thing. 
Then it came to him — and this, too, sent a chill through him 
— the look that had been on St. John’s face for days. It 
was so far removed from things of earth, “earthy.” He 
had held but little communication with his friend in those 
days. They had exchanged salutations, they had held their 
consultations, but their interviews were brief; made so by 
Horace, whose bitter murmurings, gay chatter, or more seri- 
ous business communings were held unuttered on his lips. 
Yes, St. John was unapproachable, and it occurred to Hor- 
ace that it was a strange thing, that he should imagine 
Eleanor Ward had anything to do with the exalted state in 
which the spirit of this man seemed lifted. 

And little did Eleanor Ward dream in her sumptuous 
young womanhood — in the restriction and seclusion which 
had become so irksome to her, and now that he absented 
himself was unendurable — of the self-imposed seclusion 
and abstinence which denied him, even a sight of her, the 
taste of one morsel of bread, or one single draught of cold 
water, though his heart was aching for the look in her 
eyes and the sound of her voice, and his vitals were gnaw- 
ing him, and his throat was parched. That other prayer 
which had gone up so fervently, many times — that earnest 
entreaty that he might “rescue her,” that he might indeed 
be the means of restoring her — that prayer, scarcely nec- 
essary now, seemingly answered — that prayer now merged 
in dire supplication for strength against her. She is so 
pitilessly lovely in her fully enthroned womanhood that his 
courage fails him ; he falters in his path ; he stumbles — 
why might he not? Ah ! God, what were any other earthly 
suffering, which might be put upon him for disobedience, 
compared to the agony of such days since she had been con- 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


113 


valescent ? How could he let her go from him ? What were 
life without her? Prone in the utter weakness of human 
love he lies, and prostrate his soul reaches up in prayer to 
his God, his only help — his ‘‘ very help in time of need.” 

In the long and dark watches of the night, in vigils born 
of the dire agony of his soul, he prays to his Help for 
strength to resist this almost resistless love that surges in 
on him, sometimes, when he is under the spell of her pres- 
ence. Does his Almighty Father mean it as his cross that 
he shall forever renounce her? These doubts, these tor- 
turing doubts ! 

And the hunger and thirst of those days of fasting ! And 
the denying of himself even a sight of her, that he might 
the more entirely consecrate the days and the hours and 
the moments to his God ! What a time of bodily pain, and 
anguish of soul! Such supplication, such renunciation of 
self, such yielding up of the spirit, such burning desire to 
feel, “Thy will be done!” 

Though “ washed” and scrupulous as to attire, that he 
might not “ appear unto men to fast,” there was a look on 
his face to make poor Irish Teddy watch him with yearn- 
ing, dog-like wistfulness. 

And it can no longer escape his vigilance that St. John 
neither eats nor drinks. He tempts him with his favorite 
dishes, hot and savory, and with water in the clearest 
crystal, clinking with ice, as clear. And when St. John 
simply, but with his gentle firmness, against which it is 
useless to contend, refuses, Teddy finally becomes desper- 
ate, and breaks out with almost indignant fervor : 

“ Och ! ond alack ! Is it the ayer ye are living upoon, Mis- 
ther Ongelan, these monny dayes? Avit wor meeself thot 
wos ating no bradd intirely, ond, beghorry, naither draink- 
ing onny wather, Oi wad jist bey shure that Oi was thrying 
to git ahead of that leetle thrick of Misther Tanner’s.” 

8 


114 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


Seeing a smile hover about the emaciated, holy-looking 
face, Teddy gave way, and almost blubbering, begged : 

“ For mee own pooer sake, thot om noobody, mee dear doc- 
ther, take a leetle marsel. ” But St. John only turned away, 
something trembling, unuttered, on his lips. 


CHAPTBE VII. 


A nd now he is at sea; billows seem to surge up and 
almost engulf him ; for Dr. Swayne has told him 
that Eleanor Ward is raving, again. St. John An- 
gelan feels cast out — bereft of everything — incapable, im- 
potent, helpless, hopeless! 0 my God, where art Thou? 
Again his soul struggles up feebly for her, and for himself. 

Not yet could he see her. Human love is too strong, 
human weakness, too mighty. 

Horace urges him, implores him. But he only answered 
him with a fixed, pathetic look and an infiection that 
brought a quick thrill through Horace’s whole being: 

‘‘Do for her, Horace. I am unable.” 

And Horace Swayne went back to her, almost gnashing 
his teeth, in his troubled rage at the thought of this 
haughty, wealthy, imperious thing bringing all this trouble, 
here. He, more than ever, felt convinced that she was the 
cause of the touching change in the man, whom he had 
thought nothing could daunt. 

And St. John Angelan! Night is about him, and the 
blackness of night is on his soul. 

He dare not go to her. This love ! This strong, first 
love of strong, true manhood ! Unsubdued yet ! 

Seven long days and nights he has fasted, and cried in 
spirit unto his God, and yet it rises and struggles there 
in his bosom, in the might of its glory — this beautiful hu- 
man love! 

And now another night is to draw its length of agony 
over him. 


115 


116 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


He sits with his head thrown back, lying heavily, not with 
weary, but with exhausted look, against the high back of 
his chair ; his hands are interlocked with a strength that 
sends a purple tinge into the flattened nails ; his eyes are 
raised, hungrily, imploringly, upward, and his lips are ever 
moving, but making no sound. 

There is a dim light burning beside him on the table, 
where lies a much-worn, open Bible. The stillness of 
death is in the room, and in the faint light the face looks 
unearthly. Poor Irish Teddy is watching his beloved friend 
with yearning, dog-like faithfulness. 

The hush is broken. A great wind shakes the windows 
and shudders through the building. St. John Angelan 
does not heed it. 

The room is illuminated, instantaneously, by a great glare 
of light, and then an awful sound of thunder seemed to 
break on the house, and roll under and over and through 
the building. 

Still he does not heed it. 

Teddy moves nearer, his eyes, dilated, full on his beloved 
friend. 

On it came, rain, and lightning, and deep reverbera- 
tion, and the lashing of winds. A great storm is raging 
without. 

St. John shakes off his weakness and lifts his shoulders 
grandly. His eyes emit something like the light that 
flashes into the room, and his voice seems an echo of the 
deep peal that has just died away. 

“ Great is the strength of Jehovah 

And, instantly, he felt this strength infused into him. A 
new life seemed coursing through his veins. 

He rose and went to the window, whose shutters Teddy, 
in his absorbing grief and sympathy for his adored bene- 
factor, had forgotten to close. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


117 


One blinding glare after another met his vision. But he 
seemed to gain strength as he stood. 

Black darkness faced him for the space of a moment, 
and then his soul went up in a great agony of supplication 
for her, and for himself — “Deliverance! deliverance!” 

And lo! a wonder in the heavens. 

A great jagged fork of lightning ripped the blackness 
open, and in the narrow chasm, instantaneously, but viv- 
idly, he saw a man with outstretched arms as if in benedic- 
tion. And in the darkness which followed, the figure, a 
faint outline, a tvJiite shadow, moved swiftly toward him 
as if borne on the wings of the wind, and amid the crash 
and the rumble, a voice, close beside him, low, but heavenly 
sweet, repeated, audibly, distinctly, to his senses: 

“ Thy fastings and thy prayers are had in remembrance 
of thee.” 

And the form vanished. 

But St. John Angelan stood in rapt adoration. His 
whole being seemed to thrill with the word, “ Victory ! vic- 
tory!” and mingling with the storm, his voice was lifted 
with the cry. 

The strange, sweet sound, the old, sweet note, brought 
Teddy closer; but an awful burst of thunder and a lurid 
glare of light made him cower, and cry out : 

“ Praye ! Misther Ongelan — praye for me — that these 
bowlts maye not sthrike mee, fur mee thots was verry harrud 
aghinst the Lorrd — ond — ond mee railings, daye ond noight, 
was bitther, seein’ sich os ye be, sh’u’d be suifering the 
tarmints av the writched. Oi c’u’d but saye, whot mon- 
ner of God can He bey, to looke oopon the loikes av sich ond 
lot it bey?” 

Dr. Angolan’s delicate nostrils were quivering, his eyes 
were dilated, and a great drop trembled and hashed in 
them. He held toward Teddy one emaciated hand. The 




118 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


gesture showed such weakness and love that Teddy gathered 
it in both of his hard, red ones, and blubbered out over it: 

“Ond the flaish of it isgon’! It’s meeself thot c’u’d 
woish to gev ye mee own pooer flaish, ond mee moind, thot 
ye moight be yerself wanse moore.’' 

The drop seemed to have dissolved. The eyes were full 
of light. He asked : 

And did you not pray for me, Teddy?’' 

Another flash of vivid light ; a wild warring of the ele- 
ments; a low muttered rumble; a lashing of rain. 

Dr. Angolan stood as if in a great calm. But Teddy 
trembled, and cowered, and cried out: 

‘^Oi’ll be sthruck, Misther Ongelan, Oi’ll be sthruck! 
Praye is it — prayed Was it thot 3^0 asked me — did Oi 
praye? How c’u’d thot bey, Misther Ongelan, seeing 
thot Oi was spinding the toime through in me thots, daye 
ond noight, railing aghinst the name of the Lorrd?” 

For the first time Dr. Angolan seemed to see his terror, 
and to realize that the strain of these days and nights 
upon this faithful servant, had been as great a physical one, 
almost, as that upon himself. 

The unremitting watchfulness; the dog-like yearning, 
came back to him vividly, now, though he had scarcely 
been conscious of it at the time. His solicitude for others, 
so long a governing principle with St. John Angolan, 
caused him to turn, though as one in a dream, mechani- 
cally, and go to his desk and take from it some preparation, 
which he poured into a spoon and handed to Teddy, 
saying : 

^^This will quiet you, my man; and now listen, while I 
read.” 

And taking the seat beside the little table, he began 
that strengthening Psalm — the one hundred and third — 
Bless the Lord, 0 my soul.” 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


119 


The rain dashed furiously, the trees lashed, the light- 
ning flared fitfully ; heavy rumbling sounds died av' ay in 
the distance. 

The holy voice in the room, amid the mutterings of the 
outside, sounded like some heavenly music. Teddy cowered, 
but gained strength as he listened. 

The storm was dying away. 

Under the influence of the opiate Teddy had fallen 
asleep, leaning, heavily, against the chair beside which he 
crouched, breathing, stertorously. 

But St. John Angelan kept his vigil in rapt adoration. 

His thoughts were on the heavenly vision. 

His whole being was yet filled with the word ‘‘victory.’' 

His fasting and prayer, turned to thanksgiving and 
praises. 

The storm had cleared away. 

He rose and went to the window. He threw open the 
casement. 

The dawn was breaking. He faced the morning. He 
watched the wonder grow in the east. 

It seemed to him a resurrection morn. 

Dr. Angolan’s strength had come back to him. Not 
strength of body, but strength of soul. When he felt this 
blessedness he went and took a deep draught of God’s 
pure water, and he lifted holy eyes to heaven and blessed 
God ; and he took bread and ate it, and blessed the Giver. 
Oh ! the mortal agony that bread and water can assuage ! 
Thank God, he had money — money with which to supply 
hundreds with bread. “Consecrate me more entirely, 
Lord, to thy service!” 

He was on his knees in the solitude of his chamber 
blessing God, and begging Him for strength “ this day” 
for tlie duty which was his greatest trial, when a summons 
came which well-nigh took from him what little bodily 


120 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


strength he had. Teddy implored him to come quickly 
to Miss Ward. 

Without a moment’s warning she had startled Mrs. 
Mathers with a wild laugh that tortured the ear, and be- 
fore the matron could get help, Eleanor Ward had sprung 
upon the low sill of a wide, unbarred window, seeming to 
be possessed with the mad desire to dash herself to pieces 
on the ground below. 

She was making a desperate attempt to disengage herself 
from the grasp in which Mrs. Mathers held her, calling 
loudly for help. 

Kitty, Teddy, and several attendants were watching her, 
as with superhuman strength she repelled Dr. Swayne, who 
was attempting to get hold upon her. 

“Touch me not! Your toucfi is madness!” 

The voice, ah ! the voice ! 

Everything seemed swept from under him, again. 

His knees smote each other, as for a moment, he stood 
and watched the scene. Then, St. John Angolan’s soul 
rose to the emergency. He cried out : 

“ Gracious Lord, let the mad thing come out of her!” 

His clarion tones startled every one present. 

He stood in the middle of the floor, his hands uplifted 
and laid together, his face white, his eyes strained upward, 
and intense with imploring fervor. They gazed on him 
in speechless awe. Even Mrs. Mathers relaxed her hold 
upon the desperate girl, and stood transflxed. 

And then a strange thing happened. She for whom the 
prayer was made uttered a thrilling cry, and sprang in- 
ward from the low sill. 

She paused to steady herself ; she trembled as if shaken 
by a great wind; indescribably, swiftly, wonderfully, 
something seemed to be gone from her, something seemed 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


121 


to come to her; then she approached, and stood in front 
of St. John Angelan. 

Oh ! what a sweet face it was, that lifted itself to his ! 

The febrile glare had melted in the wide eyes, the febrile 
flush had softened to a tint of early dawn on the quivering 
cheek ; a look of holy awe, mingled with human love, made 
the face both human and divine ; the lips clove apart with 
a seraphic sweetness of look and sound, 

‘^God be thanked, it is gone!’' 

And his voice took up the note : 

‘And faith through faith in His name, hath made this 
woman strong, yea, the faith which is by Him hath given 
her this perfect soundness in the presence of you all.’ ” 

There was a triumphant ring, a silver clearness in his 
tones, an enrapturing sweetness in his face, which those 
present never forgot. 

The patient herself looked on him as one coming out of 
a dream, and cried out as if touched with his holy zeal: 

‘‘ Dr. Angelan — yes — tJiis is the poiuer of God! ” 

For a moment a still more unearthly light irradiated his 
saint-like countenance, and then he went forward and took 
her hands, solemnly, and gazed with holy love into her beau- 
tiful face, as if to assure himself that this was, indeed, true 
— that this was, indeed, the answer to his prayer — to assure 
himself that this was, indeed, a fulfilment of what the heav- 
enly visitant had uttered unto him, “ Thy fastings and 
prayers are had in remembrance of thee.” 

And then he said : 

“ 0 Father, I thank Thee that it is so.” 

And those present saw a thing they had never witnessed 
before. St. John Angelan shook with sobs, and tears 
streamed from his eyes. Miss Ward turned deadly pale, 
swayed, and but for Dr. Swayne, who sprang forward, would 


122 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


have fallen to the floor. He looked up to Dr. Angelan, 
and said: 

She is going into a dead faint.'' 

He answered, strangely to their ears: 

So much the better," and left the room, repeating, so 
much the better." 

Some present could scarcely believe the evidence of their 
senses; others thought Dr. Angelan was losing his own 
mind ; but Mrs. Mathers seemed to take in the whole thing, 
and went tenderly to the apparently lifeless form. 

Teddy, I have not slept soundly for weeks. I am ex- 
hausted. See that no one disturbs me unless positively 
necessary." 

Faith ond Oi’m thot glod of it, Misther Ongelan, 
for it’s meeself thot’s been a-dreadin’ thot ye’d foind 
yerself dead — ond hurried — ond in yer grave — ond — ond 
sorry ye did not folly me poor advice, ond tek a leetle rest 
bee-fore it was too laite." 

He heeded not the words of this faithful friend — the 
soothing Irish brogue with its fulness of sympathy and 
brotherly love was like balm. 

And soon Teddy had him between his own spotless 
sheets, with the sunlight shut out and the soft gloom shut 
in, and the quiet of the holy Sabbath steeped his senses 
in bliss. He had no forebodings; everything seemed 
swallowed up in victory. 

The Lord had manifested Himself to him in a special 
way this morning. He could do naught, now, but resign it 
all to Him. His friends — those who loved her, those who 
loved him — would do all that was necessary, and that would 
accomplish God’s will. It needed no presence of his. 
These thoughts slipped off into dreams, and God granted 
him hours of sweet, restful slumber, and blissful dreams of 
her to whom his soul clave. 


A LATTER DAY ^AINT. 


123 


And finally, an awakening, with renewed strength and 
an abiding trust in Him. 

While he was drying his face with the large linen towel 
after his bath, he said: “ Teddy, I want to see Dr. Swayne. 
Ask him to come to my room.’' 

The man who looked back to him out of the mirror, 
struck even himself, as one who is renewed with strength 
in the inner man. 

‘^He is the light of my countenance, and my God,” he 
murmured, unconsciously. As h® turned Dr. Swayne stood 
in the doorway. 

‘‘ Good-morning, Horace, good-morning ! The expres- 
sion of your face makes assurance doubly sure. Eleanor 
Ward has gotten over her swoon and is herself again, and 
always will be, dear friend. I feel as sure of this, as I do 
that I am a child of God.” 

“ Angelan, you almost convince me that there is such a 
thing as the assurance of faith — and you are the only man 
I ever knew who lived by faith. 0 brother, you make 
me cry, ‘Increase my faith. Lord!’ ” He had seized Ange- 
lan’s hand in a transport of religious fervor, and his fine 
eyes were suffused with tears. “ This one of your works 
by your faith, is unequalled by anything I have ever yet 
known ! It is simply a miracle — this sudden restoration 
of Miss Ward. I have seen a change come over her, be- 
fore, under your — under your — ” he hesitated, “infiuence, 
but not like this, not like this,” he repeated, with deep 
conviction. “St. John — ” he hesitated again, laboring 
with some strong thought, “Angelan — brother — ” and his 
voice trembled with the intensity of his feelings, “ I know 
you love her — love her, even as I did Margaret in the days 
when I could not give her up, even though you warned 
me of the ‘trouble in the flesh’ I must have, in open diso- 
bedience to the Lord’s commands. 0 brother, I know 


124 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


how love, human love, blinds us! Do not walk in my 
way, it is paved with fire/’ He had sunk upon a chair. 
St. John sat down opposite him, regarding him with that 
look of deep compassion peculiarly his own, and which 
made a man feel that he truly in spirit wept with those 
who weep.” Dr. Swayne went on with impetuous earnest- 
ness: 

“ I tell you, St. John, that even the love of man and 
wife is a torture, when faithfulness to God in one, sepa- 
rates him from the other.” 

“Hush, friend! There, Horace, no more!” Then, his 
eyes full of pity, this “ strange” man said, and the same 
silver clearness was in his voice that had struck on Dr. 
Swayne’s ear the day before: 

“ Did I not leave her to you when in a dead swoon, and 
come away and sleep peacefully? Can I not leave her to 
Him until His time for me to claim her with His blessing?’’ 

“ 0 for such faith, Angelan, faith like yours!” 

“ Pray for it, my friend, act upon His word. He says, 
‘Ask and it shall be given you, knock and it shall be opened 
unto you, seek and ye shall find.’ ” 

Days after, they were talking about the magnitude of the 
suit brought against Horace by Algernon Hastings for 
“assault.” 

St. John said: 

“ I shall pay it.” 

And when Horace protested, St. John said, with mild 
firmness : 

“ You know me, Horace — I have said it.” Then, as if in 
explanation : “ It was for me you did it. Why should I 
not pay it?” 

“ But you are surely not going to let him have it, with- 
out a struggle?” asked Horace, aghast. He seemed to be 
anxious to satisfy himself if it could be possible that any 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


125 


man, even St. John Angelan, could do this, could stand 
this test. The other answered, serenely, and there was a 
rock-like firmness in his mien : 

“ Thousands added to it, could not tempt me to break my 
Master’s command, ‘If a man will sue thee at the law and 
take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also.’ This 
brought from Horace the conscience-stricken exclama- 
tion: 

“ And my hot-headed disobedience has brought all this 
upon you! St. John, how can you tolerate my unchris- 
tian-like impetuosity?” 

St. John Angelan beamed on him one of those rare 
smiles of his, and said, lightly: 

“ It is just impossible not to tolerate you.” 

“ But I shall divide with you. You shall not stand the 
whole.” 

“0, no,” the other replied, quickly. “ Your wife— that 
would be too much for her — you know she could not in the 
least comprehend it.” 

Then changing to a more reverent tone : 

“ If the Lord wills, the man will get what he designs — 
in no wise else” — his whole expression substantiated his 
belief in this — “ and if the Lord wills for it to be taken 
from me, it will be for some good;” then in a dreamy, low 
tone he quoted, as if it were sweet to his soul: “‘All 
things work together for good to them that love God, to 
them who are the called according to His purpose. ’ ” 

His manner silenced Horace for the time, but as the 
suit was opened by Algernon Hastings, who had just re- 
covered from a month’s illness, against Horace Swayne, 
and in the absence of any other witness, excepting the 
footman and coachman, who were heavily bribed, was de- 
cided against him, that high-toned gentleman felt that it 
was his own act which had brought it upon himself, and 


126 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


could not reconcile it to his sense of honor to endure the 
idea of his friend’s losing it all. 

Margaret’s anger and resentment knew no bounds, when 
he laid it before her. This seemed to her but the crown- 
ing evidence that “ that hateful fanatic” was going to end 
by depriving her of everything. She would listen to no 
reasoning. Horace wished to explain to her, and make 
her see the justice that he determined to do his friend. 
But Margaret was uncompromising. 

And Horace was set: St. John should not bear the 
whole, no, not if he had to break with Margaret, forever. 

He had been wrought up to this pitch in their angry 
arguments, that were ever the same, with only renewed and 
redoubled resentment toward each other, as they occurred, 
day after day. Even the great, wondering eyes of their 
frightened little children could not subdue the evil that 
was getting the better of them both. 

One day Horace said : 

St. John, I cannot stand it any longer! Margaret and 
I must part.” 

Looking on his blood-shotten eye, and whole dejected, 
disordered appearance, St. John said, in troubled amaze- 
ment: 

‘‘And has it come to this?” 

And then in a lava tide, Horace belched forth his trou- 
bles. 

He would sue for a divorce and leave her to herself; she 
would be better without him. 

When he had finished, Angelan asked, slowly: 

“ My fellow-servant under Christ, have you a right to 
leave this wife of yours, except for the cause which your 
Master allows you?” 

The question seemed to stun Horace ; then he burst out 
with — 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


127 


“I forgot there was such a command,” and again de- 
fensively, he added, ^^the laws of the land permit other 
things to separate us.” He said this desperately, too. 

And St. John answered, with a note that touched an 
alarm in the stupefied conscience : 

“Should the latitude of a law that goes beyond the 
commands of your Lord and Master, give you security in a 
thing which this Highest Law does not allow? 0 that 
the people, who call themselves a Christian people, would 
be governed by His laws! And that the land, which calls 
itself a Christian land, would make its laws by His laws! 
Then, what peace and prosperity, instead of strife and 
misery, would spread throughout its borders !” He paused, 
then continued with righteous indignation : 

“ There is a sin sown in the seed of Easy Divorce for 
which Moses had from Sinai a ‘Thou shalt not’ — even the 
Seventh commandment — which we are compelled to meet 
rearing its unblushing head in almost every State and 
community.” 

Shaking his shoulders, grandly he went on in resounding 
tones : 

“ Horace, you can take no license there ! Look to the 
law of the Lord ! — this only is perfect — turning the soul 
away from sin, I think it means.” His explanations were 
always meek and gentle, albeit his eyes might emit a spark 
of divine fire and his voice have a trumpet sound in it. 
“ Horace, it is sin to part with your wife for any other 
reason, than the one to which our Christ’s limit extends.” 

As St. John Angolan’s words fell on the unhappy hus- 
band’s ears, professing Christian though he had been for 
years, it occurred to him for the first time how much, 
how terribly much, husband and wife must endure, to be 
found faithful to the law of Christ. Eankling under the 
bitterness of petty strifes, and bickerings, and contentions. 


128 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


and heart-burnings, and thwarted purposes, and crosses of 
every kind, it seemed to him that to be faithful^ persecution, 
ay, martyrdom, were in it. But the argument was convinc- 
ing. St. John was right. Horace could never controvert 
that. Much as he felt disgusted with himself, unrelenting 
as he felt toward Margaret, exasperated, and desperate, and 
tired of the life that was so different to the one he longed 
after and aspired to, his heart was always melted within 
him as he thanked God for his great stay and comfort in 
this Christ-like friend. 

And he would go back home and grope his way through 
all the difficulties that were besetting his pathway. 

He must learn, though, to walk with a firmer tread. 
This St. John entreated him — “the commands as they 
face you, every day — do not tremble, and falter before 
them, do them, and walk straight on.** 


CHAPTEE VIII. 


M AKGAEET was not to be appeased. Horace’s ob- 
duracy had melted. He almost implored her to 
listen to reason and yield, but she vowed she would 
not consent to one cent of their money going in that way. 
Just yesterday, he had refused her a dog, a rare, exquisite 
little fellow, only worth two hundred dollars, and now he 
wants to give thousands away for a man who has millions 
— it was absurd; and have the dog she would, and her 
name to the thousands she would never place! So he 
could not give away all the luxuries those thousands would 
buy, and deny her the comfort of a precious little lap-dog, 
that every woman of any style, at all, had. 

“A lap-dog 1” he answered, with infinite disgust, as he 
looked into her beautiful, anger-reddened face; then added, 
sternly, as he pointed to a lovely babe asleep in a gilded 
carriage, in the centre of the fioor where the nurse had 
just left it : 

« Why not one of these beauties that God has given us? 
Mother-love” — bitterly — ‘^mother-pride — are there such 
things in our day and generation?” 

She looked a moment in his face, her eyes darting fire, 
and then she said, as if almost beside herself : 

“Horace Swayne, are you demented?” then tauntingly, 
sneeringly: “If you remain under the infiuence of that 
fanatic much longer, I shall be compelled to leave you.” 

As she named him “fanatic” Horace thought of St. 
John’s check that day — “And husbands, be not bitter 
against them." 

9 


129 


130 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


He said softly, and there was something in his voice 
that ran along Margaret’s nerves like fire: 

‘‘Where could he the disgrace, Margaret, wife, where 
the shame ? This beauty — mother, come and look. W ould 
it be a disgrace to be seen with it in your lap — this 
lovely pet, our own fiesh and blood?’* 

While he had been speaking he had walked across to 
the gilded and belaced nest where a perfect cherub lay 
sleeping. 

“Our own, own babe,” he reiterated, with infinite ten- 
derness; “but, Margaret,” he said with sudden alarm, “is 
she not breathing too rapidly? and this fiush, is it sleep, 
or is it fever?” As he hastily felt for the little heart under 
the laces, he cried : 

“Fever! Margaret, mother, our little one is ill!” 

Then indeed, and not till then, did she come forward, 
but it was with no show of yielding, though her instinct 
told her this was, indeed, so. Her thoughts ran back for 
the reason. She knew she had left the child to her nurse 
for days; she had been in a whirl of visiting and receiving 
and driving, and, conscience-stricken now, she remembered 
she had left this little God-given treasure to a hired nurse, 
while she had been searching for, and straining after, and 
almost breaking with the man she idolized, for a dog — a 
soulless, horrid, hideous little dog, almost the lowest of 
animals, to take her place. She seized the little hand, 
she pressed her lips to the white brow, and wondered why 
the child did not waken. Then, a fright seized her. 
Would the God her husband worshipped take it from 
them? Her limbs refused their strength ; she would have 
sunk to the fioor, but Horace’s strong arms gathered her 
up to him ! 

“Perhaps it is not so bad, Margaret;” but his voice was 
deeply troubled. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


131 


For a week the child was ill; then it rallied. And 
Margaret, who had been nursing it nobly, began to feel the 
monotony of the sick-room. Her thoughts ran after the 
grand masquerade, for which she had been preparing be- 
fore the child’s illness. 

They had been in, numbers of them — her friends, to 
condole with her. Of course they did not offer her that 
close, sweet thing, one’s own strength, for the mother and 
child in the sick-room; oh, no, that would be ridiculous 
in this day of hired nurses; and besides, that precious 
strength must be hoarded by these delicate, languid dames 
of fashion for the festivities of the season ; they must be 
fresh for the world, lest she scoff at, and reject them as 
her favorites. Eadiant and fresh and fair outside, always, 
— no matter how it be accomplished, nor at what cost. 

Only for a brief moment, with much longevity of face 
and elegantly worded sympathy in touching cadence of 
voice, did they keep her from the ‘‘ little darling’s sick- 
room.” 

But now the babe was better her dearest friend must 
stay a few moments with her, bemoaning her absence from 
‘‘ that delicious affair last night,” and entreating her not to 
fail them at the grand masquerade. 

“What would it be without you? Dozens mentioned 
how stupid it was, last night, without you,” she continued, 
gushingly, oblivious that she was contradicting herself in 
her ardor for Margaret’s promise to attend this entertain- 
ment. Yes, that elegant and refined lady, Margaret 
Swayne’s dearest friend, did not hesitate to urge the young 
mother to leave her little one, did not hesitate to beguile 
her from her post of duty. 

“0^ yes, go by all means, unless the dear little tot,” 
with a yawn behind her fan, “grows worse, again.” 

“ Dr. Swayne would not consent to my leaving her.” 


132 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


What made Margaret think of Horace’s consent? That 
was a thing which had been dropped long since. 

‘^Husbands are such nuisances/' uttered the elegant 
and refined lady in a tone of languid contempt. Isn’t it 
shocking that one is obliged to have one?" She had mar- 
ried a millionaire for an establishment and diamonds, and 
she detested him. 

Yes, Margaret felt all the old thraldom upon her. The 
evening had come, and with it her dress — that miracle of 
satin and gems which was to make her, Cleopatra, for the 
night. The babe was sleeping, quietly. True, she was 
breathing a little more rapidly, but Horace had said she 
was better, and had gone away to the asylum. 

It was now eleven. She could leave for one hour; her 
triumph would be complete over them all in one hour. 

The pearls shimmered under the gas-light ; the diamonds 
flashed and gleamed as the maid shook out the folds of 
lustrous satin upon which the gems were richly embroi- 
dered. The thing was gorgeous but exquisite, the tints 
of the sunset, with the tracery of tropical flowers and 
leaves in seed-pearls and tiny diamonds. 

It would be sheer madness to let the slight illness of a 
child spoil all this. Of what use would this gorgeous robe 
be to her, if she did not wear it this evening? What a 
triumph lost ! She must wear it. 

The desire was so strong upon her that she began hur- 
riedly to disrobe, and flung herself in a chair. 

“ Be quick, Sylphine. I have not one moment to lose. 
I wish to be gone only an hour." 

And as the dazzling tiara of silk and gems was bound 
about her shapely head, she now and then, with nervous 
haste, assisted, or commanded, imperiously. “ Hurry, Syl- 
phine!" a thought of the grand man she called husband 
giving her a throbbing sensation of haste and flight. If 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


133 


he should come ! what would be his wrath ! She almost 
tore the delicate ear as she thrust the hook of the great 
lustrous hoops in them, and as she shook her head with 
nervous impatience the gems scintillated and burned with 
a light that made even Sylphine’s eyes open with admiration. 

And as the shimmering robes fell about her, Margaret 
Swayne forgot everything but the magnificent image re- 
fiected back to her from the long mirror. 

‘‘And now, this serpent — clasp it about my arm, Syl- 
phine.’' The sharp spring caught the beautiful fiesh. 
Margaret’s nerves were on a tension; she shrieked, and so 
startled the maid that she sprang several steps from her 
mistress. Margaret burst into a sudden, hysterical laugh. 

“ It is so silly. Why should I care? I have done things 
that were as hard.” 

She looked at the venomous thing on her arm, almost 
as poisonous to her in its use as the poisonous living thing 
had been to Cleopatra — a miracle of gems, so like a reptile 
— and she shuddered. She looked a little more closely. 

“ What is that red stain, Sylphine?” she asked in alarm. 

“Me zinks it ees blood, madame,” she answered, coming 
closer, and cautiously examining it. 

“ Blood, Sylphine ! Is there any superstition — do you 
know any sign about blood?” 

“Ah, no, madame,” and she smiled with skeptical, re- 
assuring French incredulity. “ Dese Americans, day haf 
signs, but ze French,” and she shook her head, negatively, 
“ zey haf nozing of ze kind. It was unly zat leetle clasp.” 
And she wiped the stain from the pure fiesh. 

“ Haste, Sylphine — my cloak — my mask. Is my carriage 
at the door?” And hurrying through the hall, almost as 
if in fiight, she was furious to find her orders had not been 
obeyed. She could not realize that it had only been a few 
minutes — twenty — since they had been given. The min- 


134 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


utes to her, the making of her toilet, had been like a 
nightmare — and now this! Haste as she would, she could 
never get away. She stamped with impatience and anger, 
but the soft India sandals made no sound, and the stone 
steps against which her tender feet struck, hurt them ; and 
she could have cried out in her anger and pain. 

But here is — oh! yes, here is Agricola, driving like mad, 
and the cream-colored four-in-hand flashing by the lamp- 
post, and stopping up with perfect good training and in- 
telligence in front of her own door. She is at the foot of 
the steps, on the rich rug the footman has placed for her, 
and in a moment more in the luxurious depths of her night 
phaeton, her last orders to the footman : 

“ Tell Agricola to fly.’' 

Five, six squares ; the way had never seemed so long be- 
fore. But now, it is reached. 

Ah, gentlemen and ladies of fashion, that anything so 
fair should be so foul ! 

Shimmer of lights from frosted and many-colored 
glasses. Lofty hallways with radiance of crystal and flame, 
and glinting of gold; gleaming balustrades, and exquisite 
statuary. Spacious apartments with mirrored panellings, 
and bowers of foliage, and odors of tropical blooms. 

And moving in and out upon this stupendous stage, 
actors and spectators one, the World has her play to-night. 

Ah, the home pictures against this sumptuous display! 

But the World must have her actors — what though they 
leave behind them such scenes as Margaret had just left — 
her wages are so muniflcent ! 

To-morrow it will be that Mrs. or Miss So-and-so sur- 
passed, even herself,” and a lengthened description of her 
gorgeous attire — its extravagance advertising her power to 
indulge in such splendor — “ crowds of admirers swarming 
for the honor,” etc., etc. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


135 


These are only the big notes — the hundred-dollar bills 
with which the World satisfies her actors. Of the tens, 
fifteens, twenties with which she pays her whole retinue, 
the public knows but little. The adulation of an evening; 
the petty triumph over others; the secret, sinister joy that 
is felt when one sees in another the gnawing that is eating 
at his own vitals ; the adventurous word ; the evil eye that 
charms, and is charmed; the touch, that thrills with a 
deadly bliss — these, she gives them with a lavish hand, and 
pours out to them the manifold indulgences that lure the 
soul on to perdition. 

Swimming in softly toned lights, vibrating with sweet 
sounds, almost intoxicant with heavy odors, the whole 
place steeped the soul in a sensuous bliss. 

Margaret Swayne had not thought of her baby for hours. 
Unmasked, she stood under a chandelier, its crystal pen- 
dants making an iridescent shower over her glittering 
figure — a wonder to those who gazed — her slumbrous, dusky 
eyes answering back the enravished gaze of the superb 
Mark Antony who stood beside her — when a strain, a few 
notes from a gay girl behind her, smote her heart. 

Not the girlish, mocking voice, but the pathetic chords, 
the plaintive words : 

“ I am tired now and sleepy, too, 

So put me in my little bed. ” 

She shivered as if some icy draught had come in upon 
her. She asked with white lips, “ What is the hour?’* 

"You surely do not think of going?” he answered, im- 
ploringly ; looking at his watch, he added, pleadingly, " It 
is only two.” 

"Two!” she echoed, aghast; "have my coachman sum- 
moned, at once.” 

He would have detained her; they impeded her way, 


136 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


but she eluded them, and on his arm reached the cloak- 
room. 

“ Have my carriage summoned ; as you value my — my 
very life, have my carriage brought immediately. ” A fever- 
spot had come into either cheek, and her eyes blazed re- 
splendently. ‘‘I was due at one — home! home! let me go 
home,'’ her voice was high and sharp, but there was almost 
a wail in it. 

He was alarmed, and would have remained with her, 
but she waved him off: 

‘‘My carriage!” 

He met her in the main hallway, eagerly watching for 
him, and nervously trying to fasten the mantle she had 
worn ; he would have aided her, but she sped by him down 
the stairway into the street. 

Handsome equipages made way for Agricola’s cream- 
colored four-in-hand. 

Antony would have followed her in, but she waved 
him back with the air of Egypt’s queen, and the footman 
closed the door. 

Her orders rang out clear on the night air — some one 
on the other side of the street caught them : 

“Fly, Agricola, fly!” 

The coachman and the footman were both alarmed; 
they had never seen the madam behave so before. 

Margaret felt as if she were suffocating. Would he be 
back before she reached there? And how would it be 
with Angela? The word — the name — formulated itself in 
her mind, although she had never used it; she had hated 
it because it was for her husband’s friend; now it came 
up with a heavy, throbbing sweetness. Her heart was la- 
boring, painfully. Yes, she knew her babe was breathing 
more rapidly when she left it than it had been doing all 
day, and the nurse — she had only had her a few weeks, 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


137 


and she did not like her, but had not had time to change ; 
there was a bitter consciousness why she had not had 
time — the nurse — had she been faithful? Oh, irony of 
this mother’s heart, to wonder if the nurse had been faith- 
ful ! A burning shame seized her. Faithful ! how could 
she expect it of a hired nurse? 

She looked out; they had only passed two squares. 
There was a feeling within her as if she could fly to them, 
but was restrained by some hateful power. 

The lights from some festive hall illumined the street — 
she covered her eyes ; the music, and the revelry sickened 
her — she stopped her ears. 

‘^On, on!’' Her voice rose in a wail. 

She knew that she was going as fast as the horses could 
take her, but the moments seemed hours. 

The silence of the deserted streets, the noise of the 
horses’ hoofs, the rattle of the wheels, only exaggerated 
her mad impatience. 

Ah, now they were at the Terrace; only flve minutes 
more, and she would be there. And it loomed up before 
her again — Would he be there? What had she done? 
His anger would be something this time! She felt so 
guilty. Her temples throbbed, her eyes burned in their 
sockets, and she was trembling in every limb. 

She sprang from the vehicle as it dashed up to her door ; 
sprang from it before the footman could dismount. 

She could scarcely stand ; she commanded herself with 
a mighty effort, and rushed up the marble steps. She 
fumbled with the key, and Anally got it turned. Burst- 
ing in, she ran noiselessly — poor Cleopatra is softly 
shod — through the hall. Oh, what was all the splendor 
now? 

She reached the nursery. The hush of the great room 
is appalling. 


138 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


The labored breathing, the ominous rattle — she springs, 
wildly, to the crib. 

The large eyes are wide with their fathomless death- 
gaze, the temples are sunken, the death-damp is on the 
brow. Margaret Swayne never forgot that little face in 
all the after-days of her life. 

She looked about her, fearfully. 

Not one soul! Deserted — and — dying! 

My little Angela, deserted and dying. She gazed, stonily, 
on the little gasping face. 

“ 0 my God! Horace, where are you?’' 

When he came in he found her kneeling by the crib, in 
all the sumptuousness of her rich Oriental attire. Poor 
Cleopatra, the asp has done its deadly work ! 

She was muttering with infinite tenderness, ‘^Angela! 
Angela! waken. This is mother.” 

His heart gave a great bound. Angela — mother — these 
were names his ear had ached for ! 

They had had struggles. She named the others, Horace 
would name this one; and Margaret had never called it by 
its name, the name of its father’s friend. And mother” — 
that was too ridiculous; a young woman like herself to be 
called by that antiquated name. 

He went softly forward. The strangeness of the scene 
struck him; he paused, took it all in, and then, as if some 
one had struck a knife in him, exclaimed: 

“ 0 my God!” 

Her very words. Did hers reach a throne of grace? 
He promises to be a present help in time of need. 

Margaret Swayne was ill ; delirious, for days. Indeed, 
Dr. Angelan was afraid she must succumb. Such fevers, 
and afterward such utter prostration. 

“ Husband, has not Dr. Angelan been with me since I 
have been ill?” 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


139 


The hush had been deep, the quiet profound. Her 
voice sounded almost unearthly to him in its weakness and 
tenderness. And the question — could he believe the evi- 
dence of his senses? 

Yes, the sleep had left her without fever, and conscious. 
He could feel that, in the gaze that dwelt on him as he 
leaned over her bed. 

‘‘Do not talk now, love.*' 

“ But, husband, I want to say to you that I wish him to 
come again, and again," she repeated in a slow, feeble 
voice. “0, what a woman I have been!" 

Great tears welled up in her eyes, and rolled from her 
cheeks. 

How his bowels yearned over her — what humility this 
sickness had brought her ! 

“ And now sleep again, love. That is all right, all right" 
— soothingly; “do not think or talk, but sleep." 

And as she slept his thoughts ran back to that night 
when he had heard her fevered cry across the street, 
“Fly, Agricola, fly!" and had caught the sheen of her 
diamonds as she sprang down the marble steps. 

What bitter, burning thoughts ate into his very soul as 
he hurried home. Home! Alas! what would he And 
there? A woman, untrue to every motherly, every wifely 
instinct, a sick child, and a scene that must follow, the 
thought of which sickened his soul. For he knew he 
must have it out — this thing that was boiling in him ; one 
word from Margaret, and the seething indignation would 
overflow. 

“ God pity me!" 

The unconscious cry calmed him; he walked more 
slowly. 

He paused. He was in the shadow of a great church. 

Solemn and silent, it stood against the starlit heavens, 


140 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


its turrets making sharp silhouettes against the milky 
blue dome, its spire pointing to a brilliant star blazing far 
above it. 

His thoughts rose, a fervent prayer ascended. 

And then he had walked onward strengthened. 


PAET SECOI^D. 


CHAPTER IX. 

T he morning after the wonderful transition from 
raving lunacy to consciousness and perfect powers 
of mind, Eleanor Ward said to the man who held 
her hand long and warmly as his eyes dwelt on her like 
stars — said, without any volition of her own, and all un- 
aware of the prompting: 

‘‘The power of God was upon you, yesterday.’* 

Her speech was slow, and in her eyes there was some- 
thing strange and unearthly. 

“Yes,” he answered, melodiously, ‘“this kind cometh 
out only by fasting and prayer. ’ ” 

“And is it permanent — shall I never be so any more?” 
She asked the question almost under her breath. 

“I believe it,” he answered. 

His tones were convincing. 

“And / believe in you!” 

She looked with wondering adoration up into his face. 
He had let her hands drop, but was still standing above 
her with that starry splendor in his eyes. Her heart be- 
gan to throb painfully. 

“0, what are you? How do you get it — this power to 
live so far above everything earthly?” There were some 
reaches into which she was beginning dimly to see. 

“Through deep affliction added unto deep sorrow. 
141 


143 A LATTER DAY SAINT. 

‘Whom He loveth He chasteneth and scourge th every son 
whom He receiveth.’ ” 

His words and tones dismayed her; she exclaimed: 

“ Then I do not want it.’’ 

“ Had you been longing for it?” His gaze was so intense 
it almost stifled her. 

“ It troubles me — it is irksome. I wish to put it aside.” 

The smothered cry only seemed to make his face more 
radiant. 

“ That is life; do not put it from you.” His tones were 
silver clear, and his face was like a seraph’s — and his 
faith had made her whole! 

She lifted him to a more exalted pedestal. He seemed 
a god. He had saved her ! 

Something of all this was in her face as she breathed 
fervently, scarcely knowing what the words were that she 
uttered : 

“My gratitude is beyond words.” 

It humiliated and pained him — this adoration in her 
eyes. His soul confessed, I am but a man, and cried, 
would that she could give God the glory ! 

But he said lightly, to draw her thoughts into another 
channel, to bring them back to their true current: 

“ Then prove it. You once said, ‘Is there nothing I can 
do for you, who have done so much for me?’ You see, I 
have not forgotten one syllable of the sentence.” Her 
breath came quickly, painfully; she remembered it, too. 
He had looked so deathly that morning, and she had 
spent such days of suspense, and nights of heart-sick long- 
ing when he did not come. One, two, three — yes, the 
agony had stretched itself into seven long days and nights, 
and then it had culminated in that raving lunacy, and 
desperate attempt to dash herself to pieces. Yes, she was 
laboring with this memory as he went on : 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


143 


‘‘There is one thing I wish you to grant me/' 

The dawn tint flamed up. Could it be — was there, in- 
deed, anything she could do for him ? 

Her eyes were dazzling. 

“0, what is it? what is it?" she repeated fervently. 
“Tell me quickly, that I may feel how royal it is to give." 

“You will not think me presumptuous?" 

“You! Dr. Angelan, you!" Her manner was as if one 
might as easily accuse a king of presumption. 

The light in his eyes was very soft as he beamed on her. 

“ Eleanor is your name — do you spell it with an i or 
e-a?" 

“E-a," she answered, with wondering interest. 

“I am so glad," his voice mellow, and his eyes dreamy, 
“Eleanor" — the sound ravished her ears — “it is a sweet 
name, is it not?" 

“/like it," her voice trembling with the bliss of the 
moment. 

“It was my mother’s," he said, still dreamily. And 
then he asked, and a slight flush showed itself under his 
deep, luminous eyes : 

“Miss Ward, I would like to call you by that name." 

It was a simple request, but so unexpected in its nature 
that for a moment she had no answer. Then a crimson 
tide rushed over her face. 

He thought he had oflended her, and said, quickly: 

“ Do not hesitate to refuse me the privilege. Miss Ward, 
if it would be in the least disagreeable to you." 

She could still And no words. 

“ I have heard my father call my mother by that name, 
and I always thought it so beautiful" — his voice was low 
and dreamy again — “ and I have been on the point many 
times of calling you Eleanor. It has been on my tongue’s 
end, but I have refrained." (She was, inly, saying, “ I 


144 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


thought he was not conscious of it.”) Then with sudden 
entreaty, he again said : 

‘^It has become a strong desire — Miss Ward, I desire to 
call you Eleanor. I know so little of these conventionali- 
ties. Would it be a strange thing for a physician to say to 
his patient, who must be at least fifteen years his junior 
— would it be a strange thing if I were to say. Good- 
morning, Eleanor?” 

He did not mean it, but the mere mention of physi- 
cian and patient brought vividly all that he had been to 
her, and she answered in tones that made the heart’s blood 
come in a deeper tinge under his luminous eyes: 

‘‘ Why should I forbid it, now? You began it weeks ago ;” 
and her face was radiant as the dawn. 

‘‘ Is it possible my tongue was so treacherous?” A smile 
parted the red lip from its mate under the incurling boy- 
ish mustache, and sent a warmer glow into the eyes beam- 
ing on her. “ Truly, ‘from the abundance of the heart the 
mouth speaketh.’ Then it is settled, Eleanor?” 

The soft, yet masterful enunciation of the last sentence, 
but half a question, again deepened the tint on cheek, 
temple, and brow, and she murmured with a discontent 
that thrilled him : 

“It is so little — I thought — I hoped — you were going 
to ask me to make some sacrifice — ” She struggled a mo- 
ment as with some almost overmastering confession, then 
went on eagerly, repeating : “ I hoped you were going to 
ask me to do something really noble to — to prove my grati- 
tude. But you could not do this; you know me to be so 
weak, you would not ask anything great — of me.” 

This imperial creature touched with humility! Had 
the light truly shined in? Was she scrutinizing her 
heart? Had she found it a cage of unclean birds? He 
could scarcely answer for this rush of thought. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


145 


“On the contrary, Eleanor,'’ he assured her with much 
ardor, “I rejoice in your strength of character; it is dis- 
tinguishing — any one to know you, must feel it. And 
your mother has mentioned it to me many times.” 

Mother ! the mere mention of the name brought a great 
uprising of joy — her eyes radiated it. 

“And may I see her now? and Eeggie?” She put her 
hand to her breast as if to still its tumultuous beating. 
“ Your words were, ‘this perfect soundness. ’ I am well. I 
may go to them at once — this very day!” 

It faced him that she was to leave him, was eager to 
leave him — longed to be gone! That she could scarcely 
now restrain the turbulent joy at the thought of it. What 
would be this place without her? What would be any 
other place on earth without her? 

She was leaning toward him awaiting his answer, a 
ravishing sweetness parting her lips; her eyes were slightly 
uplifted, and the heavy, dusky lashes seemed to veil the 
ardor of her gaze; her hand still lay on her bosom, its 
sculptured wrist out-curved, its perfect fingers half hid in 
the mist of gauze that covered the creamy throat where 
the dark rich bodice left it bare. Her superb shoulders 
were a little thrown back, and her other hand rested along 
the arm of the chair. 

This radiant creature! her beauty illumined the room 
— what would it all be, without her? 

His eyes had gathered light; they blazed full upon her. 
Then a film seemed to settle on them; he turned ashen 
pale, and his lips tried to form words. 

“Dr. Angelan, when shall I see them?” she cried again, 
her own face becoming deadly pale. 

He rose abruptly, and folding his arms tightly across 
his breast, as if to shut in some passion of feeling, he 
walked, twice, up and down the apartment, then came 
10 


146 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


back and stood in front of the girl who was watching him 
with a lift of the head like a listening stag. 

“ Eleanor, will yon let me decide that for yon ?” His voice 
was strong and soft, and her name, as he nttered it, bronght 
back the color to her face. 

I think it is best yon shonld not see her just yet.** A 
low cry escaped her. “Do not be alarmed, my patient.** 
Such inflections, as his voice moved on the words, “ As God 
is my witness, I believe yon are safe, but onr rule is, that 
a patient shall remain a month after she is out of danger, 
to test her strength. And the rules must be conformed to 
without respect of person.** There was such an effulgence 
in his eyes, and the lips as they moved under the brown 
mustache had such sweetness, that she fain would have 
submitted to a still more stringent decree had he made it. 

Though she did not dream it, her mother . was all unable 
to see her. In fact, Mrs. Ward was in a state of utter 
prostration; pure nervous debility. And Dr. Angelan had 
been to her, daily, by especial request. 

Mrs. Ward’s coachman stopped, regularly, at the asylum 
every day at ten, and waited until Dr. Angelan was dis- 
engaged. 

On these diurnal loiterings, Alonza, “the Cinderella 
coachman,** wove a spell that well-nigh broke poor Teddy’s 
heart. 

He loitered, and waited ; and had a few stolen, ecstatic 
words with Kitty; and when Dr. Angelan was ready, sprang 
upon his seat and drove rapidly to the palatial residence 
of Mrs. Ward. 

St. John Angelan did not wonder at the girl’s passion, 
“that had grown with her growth and strengthened with 
her strength.** Even in this day of selfish, sensual, sinful 
prodigality, this house was a marvel of sumptuousness. 

Windows, and terraces, and balconies, of the most ex- 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


147 


quisite workmanship. Spacious hallways with costly 
panellings, and glintings of crystal, and sheen of silver and 
gold. Immense apartments with hangings of rich bro- 
cade and rare taffeta, and floorings of mosaics with costli- 
est of Indian rugs. And dining-halls with shelves of china 
and crystal and silver, and tables of ebony and brass. 
And wide doors with vistas of tropical foliage and tropical 
blooms, and slumbrous odors of the lily and the magnolia, 
and the spicy fragrance of Oriental plants, and its sprays 
of miniature fountains. And its halls of statuary and 
paintings, and chambers exquisite and luxurious. 

It had been a long time since his foot had trod such 
softness as these wonderful carpets yielded; and the very 
feel of it gave him the old-time throb and sadness, that 
always came when anything brought back the memory of 
the prodigality which had wrecked his father, the sin 
which had wrecked his mother. 

“ Thank God, He has made me free from it,” he uttered, 
under his breath, as he drank in the beauty and fragrance, 
and his senses again felt the potency of luxury; then he 
added : “ The power of it, for I still love it — human nature 
is strong.” 

That was months ago ; it had all become familiar to 
him now, and each day he drank in deep draughts of 
aesthetic delight as he trod his way to the sick-room. He 
could never hurry by it, the old spell was upon him. But 
oh, how he pitied the mistress of it all. 

He had been coming to her for weeks, and his Christ- 
like nature went out to her with all the compassion that 
was in him. He pitied her — such compassion! he pitied 
her — such bowels of compassion ! 

He was so gentle with her that she one day appealed to 
him: 

Dr. Angelan, I have not been the whole cause of it, 


148 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


have I?’' laying her hand on her heart, suddenly, ‘^oh, 
have I?” 

Dr. Angelan did not dream of her meaning. He had, 
from the first, thought there was something which she had 
not confided to him, and he answered, looking kindly and 
pityingly into her eyes, and yet with that encouraging 
firmness which was a part of his nature, and was his 
strength for others : 

“ Dear madam, do you not think it would he better to 
tell me just what you have done, to feel accused in this 
matter?” 

The flush on her cheek widened to a burning blush, then 
receded. She again had her hand on her heart, as she 
answered, with labored breathing : 

“Not now — some other day, when I am stronger.” 


CHAPTEE X. 


TT is insufferably dull, here, on Sunday. Everything 

I seems to have come to a sudden stop. I feel as if 
I must scream, if only to hear my own voice. 
This dead calm annoys me. When I am at home, I 
always attend some grand sacred performance, or Sunday 
theatre.” 

His eyes were looking straight into hers with the fear- 
less, but gentle rebuke with which he always regarded her 
when she was in one of these rebellious moods. They were 
of her, and came back to her, at times. The look impelled 
her to go on, difficult as it was. 

“ I cannot see why you make such a difference in the 
days.” 

A King hath decreed it, even the Lord of the heavens 
and the earth,” and in his voice there was such keen re- 
buke that she crimsoned to the roots of her hair. Seeing 
this noble shame, he said, mildly, as he beamed on her 
again : 

‘‘‘Kemember the Sabbath day to keep it holy.’ Have 
you not read that, yet?” Then suddenly, was about to 
say to you — ” He paused, raised his finger, and stood in a 
listening attitude. The deep, grand notes of a bell rever- 
berated through the air. 

There is the bell, and I was about to ask you if you 
did not feel as if you could go with us to our place of 
worship. It may not be like yours,” and he smiled, in- 
dulgently, ‘^but I always feel that it is good to be there.” 

149 


150 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


Anywhere, to be away from the unsatisfied longings that 
were haunting her day after day — haunting her, almost 
unceasingly, since she had been reading that book, which 
he “ held most dear/' The expression had lodged with her, 
and the book, in her thoughts, was always thus styled. 

Doubtless, she was sent unto this man. 

As they walked together in the soft, hazy October morn- 
ing, he said : 

“ You asked me why we make such a difference in the 
days. Dr. Talmage has illustrated it — but perhaps you 
have read?” 

No,” she answered with an upward glance, and the sun 
exposed to him all the creamy fairness of her skin, and 
the flickering lights in the great, deep eyes under the 
dusky brows. 

“ Talmage makes it very plain — as he does most things 
— by a simple illustration on this wise. If I had seven 
dollars and would give them to my son, showing him how 
to use six of them for his own advantage, and telling him 
to reserve the seventh for me, would you not think him a 
very ungrateful, greedy son, if he used the seventh, also?” 
Then he quoted, melodiously, “ ‘Six days shalt thou labor — ■ 
but the seventh, is the Sabbath day of the Lord. ’ ” 

“Dr. Angelan,” she asked, suddenly, “are you afraid to 
die?” 

He looked down into her eyes ; there was a dread inquiry 
in them, and her face was pale. 

He answered, solemnly: 

“As well ask me, Eleanor, am I afraid to live. It is 
even as serious a thing to live, in the Lord, as it is to die in 
Him.” 

“ But if I believed as you do” — she did not know where 
she had gotten it, perhaps from Mrs. Mathers; perhaps from 
Dr. Swayne, misunderstood; perhaps from St. John’s own 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


151 


expressions, misconstrued — she repeated slowly, looking 
searchingly up into his face, “if I believed as you do, I 
should not care what I did. I would feel that I should be 
saved, if He died for me — if I were one of the chosen,'' 

0, those daring words from her lips — they cut him like 
a keen blade. With deep pain in his voice, and in his 
tender eyes, he answered : 

“ In the words of the Immaculate One, who knew He 
was safe,’’ and with still deeper emphasis, he quoted, “‘It 
is written. Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.’ ” 

He added, after a profound respiration, and his voice 
sounded sweeter, mellower : 

“My patient, I have not ‘so learned Christ. ’ ” They 
had reached the door, and her arm trembled as he handed 
her in. 

There were so many strange-looking creatures there. It 
almost made her shudder, when she raised her head from 
the back of the pew, when she had knelt after the custom 
of those with whom she had always worshipped. Yes, a 
shudder of revolt ran through her whole frame to find 
herself in such an assemblage. She felt almost angry with 
St. John Angelan for bringing her, there. She tried not 
to look about her — she had been taught from her babyhood 
that this was inelegant — but her eyes seemed irresistibly 
drawn toward them. Those hideous, illy-dressed, de- 
formed, and blind, and maimed, and halt creatures. 

And as she furtively glanced at the figure beside her, 
she found a little hunchback, who was regarding her with 
the owl-like eyes of wisdom and inquiry those have, whose 
bodies are too small for their heads. She trembled with 
indignation. 

How dared he — even he — to bring her, there? 

She felt that the place was pestilent. 

At the very moment these bitter thoughts were burning 


152 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


in her breast, he came to her seat, and leaning over said, 
and his eyes were like deep wells of light : 

“Sing with us to-day,’' and he handed her a book. 

“Eemember, Eleanor, these are God’s creatures.” The 
last words were smothered in a deep whisper, and his silky 
beard almost brushed her face as he uttered them. 

She fell to examining the book, a burning flush making 
her feel still more uncomfortable. 

She turned the leaves, unconsciously. The book had 
notes. 

The strangeness of the whole place, the profound solem- 
nity — and his words — soon quieted her. When the min- 
ister gave the hymn and number, she was turning the 
leaves nervously, hurriedly — he had asked her to sing. 

Ah, yes, she would, for him. Already her anger against 
him had melted. 

In a few moments she had found the place. Following 
the notes, her exquisite voice mingled with the quavering, 
discordant ones for a space, and then it soared far up like 
some heavenly thing. Distinctly, softly, it seemed floating 
alone, carrying the words of the sweet old hymn, “ All the 
way my Saviour leads me.” 

When they knelt in prayer she could scarcely believe 
the evidence of her senses. She listened with almost bated 
breath. Was it the voice, or the power in the voice? 
Assuredly both; the voice, and the power in the voice. 

“‘Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy 
name. Thy kingdom come’ ” — the words came triumphantly 
from his lips. 0, the mystery! what kingdom? her soul 
knew naught of it. “ ^Thy will be done in earth’ ” — surely 
this must be a thing to rejoice in, for his voice resounded 
as if in thanksgiving, “ ‘as it is in heaven’ ” — and is His 
will done in earth as in heaven, and she ignorant of it 
all these years? “‘Give us this day our daily bread’” — 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


153 


surely that was a needless prayer from the lips of St. John 
Angelan — he has millions, “‘and forgive us our debts as 
we forgive our debtors’ ” — debts! what debts can he have, 
who is the soul of honor? but he beseeches it so earnestly 
— “ ‘and lead us not into temptation’ ” — could the Lord lead 
into temptation? the mystery again ! — “ ‘but deliver us from 
evil ’ The words seemed to be wrung from a tried spirit, 
and their trembling intensity brought from her soul the 
first prayer she ever made. She repeated, inly, “ Deliver 
7ne from evil,” and for the first time a great sin and guilt 
was on her ; appalling her, oppressing her. 

Often had the words of the simple prayer she had just 
heard, slipped from her tongue, her eyes on the gilded 
prayer-book — slipped, in murmured melody, while the en- 
chanted suitor beside her was inly vowing her “saint, 
angel” — the lips repeating them then, the heart silent, 
the heart repeating them now, the lips silent. She did 
not hear the ending of the prayer, and was not conscious 
of the movement, until the woman at her side, who was 
rising, touched her. And she could not sing the glad 
hymn with which they rose and praised God. 

She was wondering, again, where they all came from, 
those strange-looking, shabby people; and how he could 
take such an interest in them; and then, she was promising 
herself to find out of him what she could do to help them 
to seem more like human beings, decent human beings. 

“‘Who maketh thee to differ from another?’” The 
searching tones of the minister, who was so plainly attired 
that it seemed to her a shame for him to be in the pulpit, 
arrested her. But her eyes, fascinated, reached after some 
of the shapes and faces, and a feeling of utter repugnance 
seized her again. Thank God, he had made her to differ 
from these (oh, fair, unconscious young Pharisee, the day 
may come, when in sackcloth and ashes, you may beg this 


154 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


God, whom you now with lip service thank, to make you 
like these, humble of life, humble of heart, giving glory 
unto God). She glanced at St. John Angelan, as he sat 
with folded arms, a soft, reverent look thrown up to the 
man in the pulpit; she thought, still more exultingly, 
“ How He has made this man to differ from those about 
him — from any other in the wide, wide world! There 
could not be another such as he!” 

But the words again repeated, arrested her wandering 
attention. ^^Who maketh thee to differ? What hast 
thou that thou didst not receive?” And he entered into 
his subject. 

She listened in a half-conscious, bewildered, reluctant, 
disgusted way. 

What strange inconsistencies the man was saying, and 
yet what faith he seemed to have in them ! The strength 
of a thought — he was very bold — staggered her reason: 
might this not be indeed so? St. John Angelan believed 
it, his face always looked that way when he sanctioned a 
thing, and his grand shoulders were thrown back — yes, 
she was sure he gloried in what the man was saying. 
When this time is out, would she lose him? Would their 
lives diverge? What abhorrence seized her again, as she 
glanced about her at the hideous, misshapen things — what 
loathing filled her soul. How could he give his life to 
them? Would it go on — would he never give it up? 
Even if — even if 

But the man in the pulpit was quoting the case of 
Lazarus and the rich man to illustrate a point; it thrilled 
her with terror; then another sentence full of power 
seemed to stun her reason. Would he never end? She 
was so tired of it all; it was so torturing, it was so humili- 
ating, so lowering, to her pride; it placed her on a level 
with these; nay, it laid her below the lowest of these. But 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


155 


he had sat down, now. What a wearisome thing it had all 
been! 

How could St. John Angelan be of it? 

A luminous, but quickly withdrawn glance from him, 
and weariness and anger fled from her. 

As they arose to sing the closing hymn, she rose, too. 
Her seraphic voice again floated aloft, and was wandering, 
high up above all the rest, about in the soft, mellow light 
of the October noonday sun, as it shimmered through the 
frosted windows. Or so it seemed to St. John Angelan, 
as the heavenly strains entranced his senses. 

As she stood there, he saw her transfigured ; the same 
sweet face, but with a chastened look upon it that glorified 
it — a woman of the world no longer, but a saint of God. 

“ Gracious Father, grant me the patience to wait the 
time!’’ 

As Eleanor turned to leave the pew, the woman touched 
her. 

She looked down on the dwarfed, misshapen creature ; 
there was something in the eyes that made Eleanor smile 
an angelic smile of inquiry. 

“I just wanted to say,” the woman whispered in a hur- 
ried, trembling voice — “ I just wanted to say, God bless 
you, you beautiful thing!” Then, indeed, Eleanor Ward 
felt pity. She — she, to bless her, because she was beau- 
tiful ! 

Such self-abnegation! It seemed to her that nothing 
could be lovelier than that this being, with such a shape, 
should ask God’s blessing upon another, with whom He 
had ‘^made her to differ.” In her heart she felt that she 
must have hated both the creature and the Creator of such 
a difference. 

She said softly, pityingly, “I thank you,” and the wo- 
man watched her with worshipping eyes, as she glided down 


156 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


the long aisle, as distinct among the throng, as her own 
rare voice had been amid their homelier ones. 

“Dr. Angelan,” she said, breaking the silence — he had 
uttered no word, his heart was so full, a blinding, dizzy 
sensation making his steps uneven, her voice in hymns 
had touched him so — “ Dr. Angelan, I wish to give that 
poor deformed creature, that sat by me, something. ” There 
was a shy, trembling eagerness in her voice. This was her 
first spontaneous charity. Poor, lovely young Pharisee, she 
knew nothing of the “doing in secret.’' 

Strange that he could not yet trust his voice. 

“ I wish to find out all about her, and I wish to give her 
a home — a cottage with everything she needs and loves,” 
her voice was rushing on in a sweet, girlish haste, “ and she 
shall live of my ‘bounty all the days of her life.’ ” Her 
enthusiasm was infectious — it loosed his tongue. 

“And you could not give to a worthier object.” The 
October sunlight was not softer than his glance. “ She 
has an invalid brother dependent upon her, and she has 
had to work almost unceasingly for their daily bread;” 
he did not add, “until I gave them lodging and food and 
raiment” — oh, no, St. John Angolan’s lips could not utter 
a boast of himself. But he did add : 

“At once — to-morrow — we will not delay one day” (“if 
God wills,” he uttered under his breath), “you shall design 
and I will execute. I have a slip on the outskirts of my 
grounds — shall we build her cottage, there?” 

He thought her idea lovely, but too fanciful, though 
he did not tell her so ; he let her have her way ; this gen- 
erosity, the outlay, pleased him; this W’as her first great 
charity and it was not tempered by the grace of God — 
and she was yet so young. 

Yes, she told him eagerly, rapturously, Christie must 
have a lovely cottage and a garden, small but exquisite — 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


157 


a tiny fountain, flowers rare and sweet, a statuette here 
and there; she knew this woman’s soul would delight in 
the beauty and fragrance and bloom. And she wanted to 
make one creature happy on earth, one creature who had 
come by such devious ways. 

She pitied the poor misshapen thing so. As she moved 
and turned herself before her mirror, she could for days 
see the dwarfed, deformed little flgure beside her own 
superb perfectness. And she pitied her from the bottom 
of her heart. Little did she dream of the exaltation of 
that homely little body, which had been made a vessel unto 
honor flt for the Master’s use, while her own unrivalled 
one, was yet unsanctifled. 

With her returned vigor of body and brain, Eleanor 
Ward’s old ways came back upon her. 

She longs to have her freedom, if but to show them how 
she will assert herself, albeit she shrinks from the idea of 
facing it all again. 

She grows restive, longs for the sumptuousness of her 
old life, longs to see her mother, longs to see Keggie — is 
tired of the conflnement, which is self-imposed now, for 
she dreads to come in contact with that which is outside 
of her four walls. 

Their eyes break her heart, their chatter terrifles her ; 
the sights, the sounds, and the disinfectants, nauseate her. 

The poverty of the place; the monotony of the days that 
drag so, and are so gloomy; only illumined a few transient 
and blissful moments, when St. John Angelan is on his 
accustomed rounds. 

“The poverty of the place,'’ as she mentally designates 
the restrictions and simplicity of her surroundings, tries 
her almost to open rebellion, as the days go on. She longs 
for the luxuries of her own home; she longs for the sump- 
tuousness of the old life — its amusements, balls, theatres, 


158 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


operas, dinners, teas, receptions; longs for the old adula- 
tion; longs to feel that she is queen of it all, once more. 

Longs for the hooks with their soft tintings and en- 
gravings, and rich pictures in word-painting. And the 
novels of the day — she knows her favorite authors must be 
putting out some new and strange things, with which to 
beguile the hours. 

She was always glad to see Dr. Swayne now, but he, too, 
had been absent for several days. Those books he had 
brought her, though, when he was last there, were a boon. 

The Bible, “the book he held most dear,” seemed to 
look at her reproachfully as she pored over these late peri- 
odicals. But it had wearied her so, for it had seemed to 
demand that she should go on and on; and in a mood of 
characteristic rebelliousness she had laid it aside. She 
would read it when it did not trouble her so — after she got 
home, and felt again that the world was something. 

The ways here, were all so severe and simple and tire- 
some, that, but for the feeling that he was in it all, it 
would be unbearable. 

She knew her power, and exulted in the thought that 
his presence would be but another luxury in her own 
beautiful, luxurious home. 

She had been reading aloud to Mrs. Mathers, some chap- 
ters from one of Ouida’s works, as that lady sat quietly 
sewing. The evening was a little cool; a bright fire was 
kindled on the hearth — it was Eleanor’s fancy ; anything 
to vary the monotony. Miss Ward was lying on a sofa 
which she had drawn to the blazing hearth. She had 
loosed her hair and it hung like a shining veil on the rich 
upholstery of the lounge. The firelight made a radiant 
fairness on her face and in; the eyes under the dusky brows 
and drooping, dusky lashes, there was a slumberous splendor. 

She was reading in dreamy tones the sensuous sophistry 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


159 


that has poisoned so many lives as surely as opium does its 
deadly work. 

‘‘ Such intemperance!” The fine scorn in Mrs. Mathers* 
voice interrupted the reading. “ ’Tis debauchery in litera- 
ture. A great intellect which gives itself to such de- 
stroying sophistry in story after story, and day after day 
unfolds itself to the public notice in such productions, 
is, to me, like some wonderfully gifted and wealthy man 
giving himself too much wine. And the pernicious in- 
fiuence is encouraged, and had, in very much the same 
way. Because, he is a gifted and wealthy man, and 
makes for us a feast (whose skeleton is banked in gor- 
geous poppies and the deadly lotus) we revel with him 
in his mad conduct under much wine; because, it is the 
production of a wonderfully gifted and richly cultivated 
mind, we elders, read and feast, and let our young read and 
feast — and the pernicious infiuence widens and extends.’* 

The book had dropped to the fioor. Eleanor Ward lifted 
herself on one elbow and gazed into Mrs. Mathers’ face. 
Do sin and death lurk in everything that seems so beauti- 
ful? Her eyes had a baffled, pursued, aggressive terror in 
them, as if her soul were at bay. At times life and death 
had seemed such real things to her since she had been in 
this place — since she had leen reading that Booh. 

Mrs. Mathers’ brow was a little drawn, and there was 
still a fine scorn on her lip. 

“ This degradation in literature is making everything 
of a purer, stronger sort, tame and prosaic to the young 
and ardent. And the craze for quick notoriety puts abroad 
such disgusting literature. Amelie Eives, our brilliant 
young Southern author, lowered herself, when she gave 
to the public that prodigy of a widow, who tried to out- 
love a love which could not have been love, in her im- 
piously entitled book, ‘The Quick or the Dead?’ It 


160 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


has this tendency, too : the young woman who sees herself, 
and all her fast, indelicate ways, portrayed in this fascinat- 
ing creature, instead of feeling the shame, is made to 
rejoice that she, too, is fair, and can hold some man’s senses 
in a thraldom as strong and exciting. Oh, these authors, 
what things they do say ! It makes my face tingle with 
shame for my sex.” Slightly flushing, her hands tremble 
as she attempts, repeatedly, to thread her needle. “ And 
her ‘Story of Arnon,’ with its fourth son for Noah — how 
dared she? — and its temple lefore the flood.” She was 
laughing now, that unctuous laugh of hers when anything 
amused her. Then again with flne scorn: Words, words, 
gorgeous words, but such unpardonable ignorance! An 
intelligent woman, a professed Christian, and yet ignorant 
that generation on generation came after the flood — lefore 
the temple! A love-scene — between two lovers — in the 
temple — lefore the flood — was ever anything so profoundly 
absurd?” She had separated the parts of the sentence 
with deliberate emphasis and irony. 

Eleanor rose, and going to Mrs. Mathers sat down be- 
side her. 

“ I have a confession to make. I was as ignorant, before 
I came here. ” A noble shame suffused her cheek. “ I had 
never read a dozen chapters in the Bible, and those I had 
read, had left no impression. I was as ignorant of its 
sacred contents” — she said this reverently, impelled by 
some feeling which rose up in her, her voice trembling 
slightly — as — as any heathen in the most remote corner 
of Africa.” 

Mrs. Mathers was grimly wondering, “Are there any 
corners more remote than the ‘lap of luxury’ in a Chris- 
tian land?” and she said a little bitterly at the thought of 
such “unpardonable ignorance:” 

“ The world will never teach it to you, Eleanor. Half 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


161 


of the full-mouthed saints, learned and elegant in all 
things that pertain to this life, are totally ignorant of 
what is binding upon him, or her, as a true follower of the 
Man, who came and died for us. 0 that Christian people 
would learn things, and lift themselves, and write things 
to help others to the proper level !” 

After Mrs. Mathers leaves the room Eleanor takes her 
books and goes to the window ; but sits and dreams with 
them in her lap, her eyes still heavy with that pursued, 
baffled, almost sullen terror; but softening as she gazes 
outward. 

Firelight gleam inside, sunset glow outside. Double 
lights, faint counter-lights produce weird effects. She 
seemed a part of the glow — sunset background, firelight 
gleam in front. 

She had said, “ Come in,” in a dreamy, half-unconscious 
way. 

St. John Angelan approached her slowly, as one under a 
spell. His heart had been aching for a sight of her all 
day, and now it seemed to him that a heavy sweetness was 
in the very air of the room, so filled she it with her 
presence. 

He stood speechless, watching the effect of dickering 
counter-lights on the marvellous face in its golden mist of 
hair. 

The thought smote him again : What would this earth 
be without her? 

Must he give her up? Would the Master require this 
at his hands? Oh, these torturing doubts. ‘‘With faith 
nothing wavering” — the promise was to come with that. 

But sometimes it seemed impossible that he should be so 
blessed as to have and hold her — this proud, beautiful thing, 
that had dipped her plumes in light. It seemed impossible 
that she should ever be content to fold them and dwell in 
11 


162 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


simple haunts, and sing a new song. God work the 
change ! Ever present and unbidden rose the prayer — God 
work the change ! And the assurance, “If ye abide in me, 
and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and 
it shall be done unto you,” strengthened him. 

Her rapt gaze turned inward. She smiled up in his 
face ; a sumptuous, dreamy grace on lip and cheek. 

“Sit awhile. Dr. Angelan,” she said in a beguiling, en- 
trancing seduction of tone and gesture, as she motioned 
him to a seat near her, “sit awhile,” a vehement sweetness 
in her accents, “ and listen while I read. ” 

At this moment he had no power against the soft des- 
potism of her command, and as the slumbrous, dusky eyes, 
under the broad, dusky brows, lingered in his, there was 
surrender in his whole being. 

But the Might of his manhood rose within him, and he 
seemed a conqueror as he sat with his grand shoulders 
thrown back and his eyes blazing with inward enthusiasm. 

Something swift and sweet trembled over her face and 
hovered about her mouth. Her eyes still lingered in his. 

“Listen, Dr. Angelan, while I read,” she repeated again, 
and there were inflections in her tones, new and strange to 
his ears, that made the bliss of the moment perilous. 

In low, dreamy melody she read from the Harper lying 
in her lap that exquisite poem, “Chant of the Woodland 
Spirit,” by Eobert Burns Wilson. 

When she had flnished, she turned her gaze again into 
the mellow sunset and said in the same sweet, rapt voice 
in which she had read the poem : 

“ When I read such things my heart beats with a blissful 
tumult — hark! can you not hear it? — my pulses throb, and 
my blood runs warmer in my veins.” Turning slowly 
again from the glory outside, she murmured : 

“ There is something heavenly to me in the rhythm of 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


163 


great poetry; a soul-music throbbing, throbbing in the 
words. When I read such, I wonder are there any other 
words for such scenes and sounds,” and her eyes with their 
mysterious communings are almost drooping under his gaze. 

What ravishment of the senses ! Why does she use such 
looks, and tones, and words? His whole soul goes up in 
supplication, ‘^Lead me not into temptation.” 

In a distant, abrupt manner he began to tell her of 
Horace and his trouble — his babe’s death, and his wife’s 
illness. 

The days which followed were almost unbearable. 

No genial, newsy Horace, whose presence brought a de- 
licious, though tempered breeze of outside. No moments, 
short but lasting, with that king above men, whose every 
word came forth vested with power for her. 

Only four walls. But for her western window — through 
it, the glory of the air and the sky, and the distant moun- 
tains with the ever-changing clouds and colors above them — 
the place must have been a dreary prison to her now. 

Only four walls. To read; to dream; to sit listlessly 
over scarcely tasted meals; to fret, to chafe at confinement ; 
to sleep the night away, and dream, perchance, of all that 
was denied her. 

Mrs. Mathers urged her to go out, but she almost shud- 
deringly refused. As her strength came back to her, -she 
had, more than ever, a nauseating horror of all that was 
outside of her door. 

Through the thickness of her walls she would some- 
times hear a wild shriek; and her cheek would blanch, 
and Mrs. Mathers would have to gather her to her breast 
as one does a little child to soothe it, telling her the while: 

‘‘ It is only some poor creature brought to this haven of 
charity to be treated and cared for as tenderly as you have 
been, my dear one.” 


164 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


Through her door, would come the meaningless chatter 
of words ; the meanings of imaginary grief ; the cackle of 
fancied mirth ; and sometimes from her window she could 
see winding through the shrubbery of the garden below, 
weird, wild-looking creatures, guarded by their alert at- 
tendants. 

And an undefined terror had grown in her mind of 
things she had not seen. 

What miserable creatures must be locked away — barred, 
perhaps — no, he would not put bars about any human 
being; Mrs. Mathers had said that; but there must be 
miserable, loathsome creatures locked away somewhere, 
remote enough that their screams, their terrible screams, 
could not be heard; but under this same roof — in this 
same place of which she was an unwilling inmate. Oh, 
why liad such a thing happened to her? At times a deep 
abasement of feeling would make her submissive, but at 
other times her spirit would rise in proud rebellion, and 
she would demand of Mrs. Mathers to be sent home at 
once. 

That wise and gentle lady divined her feelings, and 
made for the haughty young thing, uncircumcised of 
heart, she pityingly thought, a way of escape from the 
things that tried her so sorely. 

The matron herself, in the stinging, frosty October 
mornings, took Eleanor to walk in the early sunshine. 

These tingling, appetizing walks made the “ anchorite’s 
meals,’* as she mentally designated them, not only savory 
but delicious. 

And again, Kitty was sent with her for a saunter in the 
hazy evening sunset time, to gather gorgeous autumn 
leaves. 

And an indoor diversion of the wise and kind matron 
has amused Eleanor greatly — Mrs. Mathers gives her daily 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


165 


lessons in sewing. But Eleanor loves most to read aloud 
to this dear friend, who seems nobler and more beautiful 
to her day by day. 

“ Mrs. Mathers, I want to redeem Am61ie Eives with 
you** — voice and eyes irresistible. “ You must listen while I 
read you this story. Sit down and rest those weary feet. 
I am dying to read to you.** 

Eleanor’s voice, with its peculiar charm, soothed and 
rested the matron, even though she did not let her mind 
run with the story. But this one arrested her wandering 
and more serious thoughts. 

“ Yes, that is a strong story,** much touched as Eleanor’s 
exquisite voice told the story of the old Virginia farmer, 
whose fine wrath culminated in the scene with his daugh- 
ter, “Inja,**when he flings her from him in the hall of 
her palatial residence. 

Eleanor Ward had turned the leaves, and was looking 
with tender eyes at the picture of the grand old man, 
nature’s nobleman, as he stands by the cradle of his own 
fiesh and blood, fashioned so like him — nature’s marvellous 
reproduction of like. Youth and old age, the baby face 
grand in its faithfulness to the grand one bending above it. 

The power of what had preceded it, and the pathos of 
the words, “ A’n’t yer mother nuver tole yer?** brought 
the drops that had slowly gathered. She closed the book, 
strangely quiet. 

After a while she began reading aloud some story that 
had struck her. As she read, Mrs. Mathers noted a swift 
undercurrent, a something as if her voice was carried by 
the swelling and bliss of her heart. 

Mrs. Mathers could not stay to hear the end ; some duty 
called her away. 

When she came back, which she did after several hours, 
she found Eleanor in her old seat by the window. 


16G 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


“And have you finished ‘Indian Summer’ 

“ Oh yes, I could not stop one moment. I ran through 
every number,” and her voice thrilled yet, with some hidden 
meaning. 

“And did he marry Imogen?” 

“Imogen!” in high disdain. “She had no soul; how 
could she mate with him?” Then with soft vehemence: 

“ Do you know, Mrs. Mathers, Colwell reminded me of 
— of — Dr. Angelan.” There was the same swelling and 
bliss in her tones as when she had read. “ Not so master- 
ful, but who could be that?” and her eyes were two globes 
of light, “but tender and true. Truer to this Imogen 
than she could be to herself. I do not believe it” — she 
seemed to be deciding something that she did not want to 
doubt — “that he meant to break with Imogen for the 
other. ” She repudiated the idea that seemed to thrust itself 
upon her. 

“But let me finish it for you,” and she fell to reading 
rapidly, so that she might have Mrs. Mathers’ thoughts, 
too, upon the doubtful point. 

After she had ended she said quickly, breathlessly: 

“ I do not believe that he meant to break with Imogen 
for the other.” She seemed to be combating the idea 
now, as if she imagined Mrs. Mathers must think that, 
too. 

“ But it was a little disappointing” — with her unctuous 
laugh, amused to see Eleanor so eager about it. 

“ No,” she said, warmly, “ it was a sacrifice; I am sure it 
was a sacrifice.” 

Mrs. Mathers, still much amused, returned: 

“ But the idea will force itself that he chose a security 
with this gentle, undemonstrative widow, rather than risk 
being lost in the disappointment of a younger nature,” 
laughing softly. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


167 


Mrs. Mathers, please don’t. I tell you, something grand 
was at the bottom of his soul.’' 

“ Well, well, my dear one, we will not quarrel over it. 
There is a tender grace about the story, like its name — 
like the day outside.” 

And Eleanor was satisfied. And she looked awhile into 
the empurpling distance, across the hazy stretch of wood 
and fell, under the crimson sky. 

“Mrs. Mathers,” she asked suddenly, “was he always 
so? I mean in his boyhood, in his young manhood?” 
Her face was burning with the question. “ You remember 
you mentioned a sin — a temptation. Was he always so 
perfect?” 

Mrs. Mathers’ words did not come quickly, though she 
knew instinctively whom Eleanor meant : 

“ He was always generous and noble-hearted, but when 
young — only eighteen ” 

A girl came to the door; her face was white; she beck- 
oned to Mrs. Mathers, who rose quickly, saying to Eleanor, 
“ I am wanted ; I will be back as soon as possible,” and went 
hurriedly out. 

The girl whispered a few words. A kind of horror grew 
in Mrs. Mathers’ eyes; she walked rapidly to the apart- 
ments of St. John Angelan, her face white and her lips 
drawn tightly, to still their trembling. 

She pushed open the door, her hand shaking violently 
on the knob. 

St. John — her boy, her beloved — was on the bed, and 
was very pale, and there was blood on his clothing and on 
the white coverlet. A tremor ran through her, but she 
had nerve for any emergency, she believed. 

Dr. Swayne was standing by, with suppressed excitement, 
and repressed rage in his whole demeanor. Teddy was 
also, standing by, in an agony of distress and rage. 


168 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


Dr. Angelan smiled faintly up in their faces, and said 
in a voice that set them all to work cautiously, tenderly : 

“ Horace, let those feelings go. I need you now.” 

It was in the fleshy part of the side, touching no vital 
part, that the ball, aimed at his heart, had entered and 
passed out. 

Horace with forced calmness did the bandaging with a 
skill peculiarly his own; Mrs. Mathers, with steady nerve 
and tender touch, rendering every assistance necessary; St. 
John bearing the operation with a fortitude characteristic 
of the man. 

Teddy alone, weak ; so weak that the tears would run, 
and drop from the end of his big red nose, as he leaned 
forward with basin, or bandage, or lint. And his whole 
soul was boiling up within him at the outrage. He was 
muttering from time to time : 

“The thafe, the snake-in-the-gross, that c’u’d hev 
aimed sich a blowe at sich a mon. Now, if it c’u’d hev 
bin meeself, ond — -ond — Misther Ongelan go fray, the 
throuble would be no throuble at oil — at oil, fer this 
flaish is nothing — ond Teddy O’Brien is nooboddy ; but the 
mon upon the bed — whoy should sich flaish suffer? Ond — 
ond — ” his words went into thoughts, “whot w’u’d the 
worruldbe without him, ond whot w’u’d Teddy be without 
him?” The personal application made the drops run 
faster. 

“ Teddy, my man, give me your hand.” 

The clumsy, ungainly member went eagerly, but trem- 
blingly forward. 

As Dr. Angelan laid his soft white hand in it, Dr. 
Swayne interposed with a break in his voice: 

“St. John, I fear you will excite yourself.” 

“On the contrary, Horace, such as this strengthens.” 

His eyes then dwelt on the yearning ones, watery and 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


169 


almost idiotic in their grief and dismay, and his voice was 
deep and sweet : 

“ Teddy, I thank God for such a brother.” 

Teddy’s eyes went up rapturously, and for a moment he 
was mute with ecstasy ; then he exclaimed : 

'‘Hist! He colls me thot! he colls me thot!” his ear 
turned as if to catch a heavenly sound. “D’ye hear him, 
Misthress Mathers? D’ye hear him, Misther Swayne? 
Him! it’s him that colls the loikes of me broother, ond it’s 
mee-self thot wad as lief fer him to woipe the dust ov his 
fate apon me!” 

There was a glint of the eye from Horace to Mrs. 
Mathers at the ludicrous ending of this ebullition from 
Teddy. And St. John smiled softly and benignly. 

The bandaging was done and he was comfortable, and 
now Mrs. Mathers slipped into the hall. Unable to pro- 
ceed further, or indeed stand longer, she sank on a chair. 

Great tears streamed from her fine eyes, now uplifted in 
prayer. So Dr. Swayne found her, as he followed her, 
almost immediately. 

And then he told her, with bitterness and vengeance in 
his whole manner and language : 

“ That poltroon has at last crowned his villany by 
shooting St. John. He shall be prosecuted to the fullest 
extent of the law. Hanging is too good for him! To 
put a ball through a man at the back, defenceless — to 
hound his steps in this cowardly fashion!” 

He was so incoherent, that Mrs. Mathers at first could 
not make anything out of what he said. After a while 
she gathered, that Algernon Hastings had watched Dr. 
Angelan as he emerged from Mrs. Ward’s that evening, 
and as he was walking down the street, had followed, and 
shot him from behind. But he was instantly seized, and 
was now in custody. 


170 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


“ You, perhaps, do not know it, madam, but Hastings is 
madly jealous of St. John, and enraged with him, because 
he will not let him see Miss Ward. I have been watching 
him for days, until” — his voice was husky — ‘‘until my 
trouble, and then I forgot him. I was afraid of something 
of this kind, he has dogged our steps so. He had bribed 
Alonza to find out Miss Ward’s true condition, and when 
told that she was well and strong, his impatience and 
anger knew no bounds. 

“ The man is mad with wine, and his love for Eleanor 
Ward. He seemed determined to strike down all barriers 
between them. Little wonder — one crosses such a woman 
once in a lifetime. Napoleonic in his ambition,” he went 
on with supreme disgust — “ and yet this puny little spirit 
has no power to conquer anything. So rage and impo- 
tence -and drink — and added to this, her mother’s angry 
dismissal of him this very evening in the presence of St. 
John, must have driven him to the desperate deed. In his 
baffled hopes, the rage of his failure, and his drinking to 
excess, all the venom of his pusillanimous soul was concen- 
trated on St. John, whom he believed to be his rival, and 
the cause of it all. St. John does not wish one breath of 
this to get to Miss Ward — but of course it is needless to 
caution you, Mrs. Mathers,” he added with gentle defer- 
ence. The matron was looking in his face with troubled 
amaze. She asked almost under her breath : 

“ Has it ever occurred to you. Dr. Swayne, that this 
man is Eleanor Ward’s husband?” 

Horace Swayne was startled, but he answered quickly, 
confidently : 

“ Oh no, that could not be. St. John would have known 
it.” Then he resumed: “ I have been afraid of something 
of this kind — this shooting — all the time, but I thought,” 
he added bitterly, “I thought St. John was above it. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


171 


beyond it — the power of this man. Trouble,” he mut- 
tered, “trouble everywhere! I sometimes wonder, Mrs. 
Mathers,” he said with a skepticism that pained the ma- 
tron, “if it is all real — this thing we call religion. St. 
John Angelan lives it, but here he lies prostrate, when 
God could have delivered him out of the hands of his 
enemy.” 

A look of prophecy seemed to dawn in the fine eyes that 
but a moment before regarded him with a look of pained 
surprise. Her voice was strong and sweet: 

“ Wait and see. Dr. Swayne, wait and see what this will 
bring. The Lord’s ways are not our ways. One noble 
obedient one has often to suffer that other things may be 
accomplished according to His will.” And though neither 
Dr. Swayne, nor yet Mrs. Mathers might ever know it — 
out of this, under the inscrutable management of the Holy 
Spirit, a sinner was converted from the error of his way. 


CHAPTER XI. 


T he next day St. John said to Horace, who had 
spared a few moments from his wife’s bedside for 
his, almost, as dear friend. 

“ I am snifering some this morning, but I do not think 
I have any fever. At any rate, I shall risk it, Horace. I 
wish to talk with you about Algernon Hastings. I see 
vengeance still in your face. Brother, let that go,” his 
voice pierced the inmost soul, ‘‘ the flesh profiteth nothing. 
We will not sow to the flesh. The man is crazed from 
drink. I will not have him, by any influence of mine, 
prosecuted by the law. I have obtained mercy, shall I not 
be merciful?” Horace knew the note in the voice, and 
began to feel his first emotions of pity for the offender. 
‘‘ I wish you, my friend, as a physician, to act in my place, 
and, speaking for me, assure those who may consider the 
outrage as you do, that the man is fit only for the inebriate 
asylum. Insist that I wish him to be placed there, instead 
of in prison ; and at his trial, exert all of your influence, 
bring your personal knowledge of the whole affair — sup- 
pressing her name if possible” — the pained, imploring 
look touched Horace deeply — “ bring your personal knowl- 
edge to bear upon the case, and defend the man.” There 
was an earnestness, a fervor in his tones that ran along 
Horace’s nerves like old wine, ‘‘ and jprove that he is insane 
from drink.” 

Looking into Horace’s face with a dauntless firmness, 
he said: 

173 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


173 


“ This is the case, I would not have you to forswear 
yourself.” The sentence was distinct and authoritative. 
“Would you make it otherwise, to gratify the flesh?” 

Horace exclaimed in bitter self-abasement: 

“ A pitiful thing, when a Christian’s honor has to be 
called to the front to make him act as a Christian ! Miser- 
able pretension!” he uttered the words with supreme self- 
disgust, “ when honor has to bring justice and mercy for- 
ward. i know he is insane, St. John, as well as you do, 
but I despise him so, and he deserves all that the law 
could possibly do to him.” 

“ And do we not deserve all that the law of the Lord 
could possibly do to us? — and yet we have obtained 
mercy.” 

There was a tender cadence in St. John’s voice that 
almost brought tears to Horace’s eyes. “‘Vengeance is 
mine and I will repay, saith the Lord.’ Can we not leave 
it to Him?” He had reached his hand out and laid 
it on Dr. Swayne’s shoulder. The touch, or the words, 
seemed to open a new path for Horace. He gathered 
strength, as he turned and looked down into the face so 
tender and benign in the soft gloom of the darkened 
chamber. 

He said, and there was a break in his voice : 

“I know the ‘way,’ but my trouble is, I do not walk in 
it. ” Then he added with a little humor in his tones, “ I 
have to be pushed, and pulled and jostled into it;” but 
presently he said, earnestly: “St. John, trust this to me. 
I think I know your wishes. Lie quietly here and get 
well — get well speedily. Nothing is anything without 
you. Take this, and very soon you will be sleeping sweetly. 
And now, I must be back to my Margaret.” 

Mrs. Mathers was at the door, and as Dr. Swayne opened 
it, an odor of sweet, tea-scented roses came in with a de- 


174 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


licious draught. St. John is looking eagerly toward the 
door, and as she enters, says : 

'' Bring them here, Mrs. Mathers. She sent them, I 
know. Lay them on my pillow.’' 

After a while, dreamily : 

‘‘They are like her. Even if one does not see them 
they make their presence felt, and when one sees them 
they are a revelation.” 

“She brought them, herself, to the door,” said Mrs. 
Mathers exultingly, hanging over him, half whispering it, 
as she smoothed the crest of light brown hair. 

The anodyne Dr. Swayne had given him, and the odors, 
and the whispers were steeping his senses; he murmured: 

“Then it is not the roses, it is herself;” then still more 
blissfully, “Eleanor,” but he was even now in a delicious 
slumber, and the name but the fragment of a dream. 

As Mrs. Mathers bends over him, he now and then 
rouses and opens his eyes; words form on his lips. She 
bends still lower and catches a faint whisper : 

“Mine, to have and to hold — God is good,” and some- 
times he only smiles up into her face, and then sleeps 
again. Once he roused, and reaching for one of the roses 
laid it to his lips, and looked, beseechingly, up into her face. 

“Pray, Mrs. Mathers, that my faith fail not,” and then 
he crushed the flower to his lip, and exclaimed : “ The flesh, 
how it strives for the mastery ! human nature, how it pleads ! 
Mrs. Mathers, physical weakness makes human weakness 
stronger, sometimes. These flowers — these flowers, how 
they plead!” He seemed feverish ; she thought perhaps 
she had been injudicious, but after a while she soothed 
him ofl[ to sleep again. 

“Is he better?” Eleanor Ward asked, when Mrs. Mathers 
again went back into their apartments. “ Tell me some- 
thing that he said. I want’something from his sick-room. ” 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


175 


She was not conscious of the urgency of the demand. 
In the glooms of her eyes were all the mysterious things 
that had gathered there since she had been told that he 
was hurt — unable to leave his bed. Mrs. Mathers smiled 
as Eleanor loved to see her smile, and answered the hungry 
demand in the girl’s voice and words: 

“He said — I think these were his very words — ‘Bring 
them here’ — the flowers, he meant — ‘she sent them, I 
know. Lay them on my pillow. They are like her. Even 
if one does not see them they make their presence felt, 
and when one sees them they are a revelation.’ 

“And will he soon be well?’' an aurora flush glorifying 
her face, and an eager thrill in her voice. Then with a 
heavy sigh, almost a sob: 

“How shall we exist? Forgive me, dear madam, but I 
am so tired of it all, and I long so to be at home. I am 
afraid of them ! I believe I grow more and more afraid 
every day; I am sure it is childish and ungrateful, but 
almost everything here, is so revolting to me,” and she 
burst into a great storm of tears. Mrs. Mathers knew this 
would relieve her, as it always did. 

Examining his wound the third or fourth day. Dr. Swayne 
said to him : 

“ St. John, your very flesh refuses to yield to the ravages 
of sin. Here is this wound healing ‘ by the first intention. ’ ” 

Horace was standing over his friend, looking almost 
worshippingly down into the eyes that were like wells of 
light. 

“Is it so?” triumphantly. “I had not been suffering 
much, but I did not know what the will of my Father 
might be.” After a pause, still lifting the light of his eyes 
full into Dr. Swayne’s, “ Does He heal this, at once? Then 
I shall know,” his whole face kindling, “that He has a 
special work for me to perform.” Then, slowly and sol- 


176 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


emnly, “ Even to go and use what skill I possess for the 
poor creature who did the deed.” 

Professed and devoted Christian as he was, Horace, at 
times, was startled at the exalted ideas of his friend. In 
his old, boyish way, half of impatience, half of admiration, 
he uttered : 

“ Is it possible, St. John, that you can feel that there is 
anything more for you to do for this man?” 

St. John’s eyes were beaming with holy ardor. He 
answered : 

“He hath said, ‘Do good to them that hate you, and 
despitefully use you, and persecute you!’ I have some 
skill in cases like his; I learned it, you know,” he drew in 
a deep, trembling respiration. “ It is such a deadly evil, I 
wished to know how to deal with it” (that I might help my 
fellow-man, was in his heart, but St. John Angelan could 
utter no boast like this), “and besides, I would like to let 
him feel — this enemy of mine — this enemy of mine,” he 
reiterated the words, tenderly, pityingly — “I would like 
to have him Icnow^ make him feel that I am his friend. I 
think, Horace,” he said, gently, humbly, “I think this is 
the spirit of Christ. Did He not first make you feel that 
He loved you ? lam sure my love did not come first ;” then 
he quoted, melodiously, “‘We love Him, because He first 
loved us.’ ” 

Horace exclaimed : 

“ 0, the inner courts of this love of God ! Shall I ever 
reach them?” St. John always opened such visions to him. 

Looking earnestly into his friend’s eyes, St. John 
answered him : 

“There are courts here, and courts above; our obedi- 
ence is the door to those, here; His obedience, to those 
above. Only a child of God can enter into the doors here, 
only a child of God can enter them there.” 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


177 


Horace murmured, bitterly: 

But how many of us impiously stand without here, 
refusing the way of entrance, because human nature men- 
aces and points her way, and we heed, and cower and 
cringe, with a little hope hugged to our bosom. If He died 
for us — oh, we hope He did, we hope He did — if He died 
for us we will get to everlasting courts.’' There was a 
sarcasm in his tones that pierced his friend,’s heart. Then 
he exclaimed with bitter regret and self-loathing : “I am 
one of these, St. John, unstable as the wind — a well without 
water — a cloud without rain — a blemish on the profession.” 

And now Horace Swayne was determined that the 
city should know that there was one man in our day 
and generation, who could, under such great provocation, 
forgive. In a short article — a few terse words, he pub- 
lished it, made the whole affair plain (suppressing her 
name), just as he and St. John had settled it. And it 
strikingly set forth the magnanimity of the man toward 
his enemy. Yes, he wanted the city to know that there 
was one man within its borders who could pray, “ Forgive 
us our tres^iasses as we forgive those who trespass against 
us,” without begging condemnation upon his own head. 

He recounted the scene in which he had been an actor, 
and the subsequent suit — its immense sum — and the non- 
resistance of the follower of the Man, Christ Jesus. He 
wanted the city to know it — yes, he wanted to publish it 
to the world that one Christian could stand this test — “ If 
a man will sue thee at the law and take away thy coat, let 
him have thy cloak also.” 

Those who loved their moneys and vaunted themselves 
in their honor, pronounced him weak and fanatical. Some 
of those who knew him pronounced it one of St. John 
Angolan’s overstrained ideas of obedience and forgiveness. 
(These professing Christians had perhaps read the mighty 
12 


178 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


sentence, “Vengeance is mine;” they had not accepted it 
as the fiat of a King. St. John Angelan had: every com- 
mand in the Book of Life came forth vested with power 
to him.) Others, had a dim consciousness of the exaltation 
of this man’s conduct, in the graciousness of liis charity 
toward his fellow-man. But there were some souls, humble 
and true, throughout the city, and the land, that gloried in 
the man who had proven himself a follower of the com- 
passionate One, who exclaimed in the most trying hour : 

“Father, forgive them.” 

Dr. Angelan had taken the precaution to get Horace to 
write to Mrs. Ward’s family physician not to let her, on 
any account, know of the affair which was creating such a 
stir in the city. And he himself had sent her a line or two 
telling her of his indisposition, and regretting his iiiability 
to see her — but hoped he would be all right in a few days. 
Nearly two weeks had passed. He had recovered rapidly, 
and was, again, going his accustomed rounds. 

Mrs. Ward had sent for him in haste. And indeed he 
was alarmed at the great change in her. Almost imme- 
diately, she said to him as she looked, unwaveringly, in 
his face : 

“ I want to make my confession to you, this morning. 
Dr. Angelan. I deceived my child,” her voice was high 
and sharp, “ my Eleanor who would never deceive, though, 
God forgive me, I have tried to teach her to do so. I brought 
her up in that school, — Society” — a little wildly, in looks 
and tones “ what is it to me, now — Society — that is gloating 
over my misery — Society — that is even now swarming about 
the putrid piece of fiesh my beautiful, unfortunate one has 
dropped ! What does it care for me, that I am dying of a 
broken heart!” 

Her eyes shone brilliant with excitement. “But,” tri- 
umphantly, “ ah, no, I could never make her what they 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


179 


were.” Then she said suddenly, as Dr. Angelan’s eyes 
were luminous and intense, and shone in her face: “I 
have sometimes thought since I have known you that God 
^preserved her from what I intended she should be.” 

Is not that a thing to rejoice in, my dear madam?” he 
said, melodiously. 

‘‘ But oh! poor child, where is she now?” 

‘^In His hands still,” and his voice resounded with that 
silver clearness which always characterized it in his exalted 
moments. 

“ Knowing that He preserved her, does that relieve my 
responsibility?” She seemed to hang upon his answer. 

His eyes were full of pity again as he said, firmly: 

Kot in the least, my dear madam, but He pardons the 
repentant. You can never undo your false and mistaken 
years of motherhood — the sin that found you out,” he 
added, with that soft depression of voice that touched the 
inmost soul ‘^but” lifting it with sudden energy that com- 
municated strength to the hearer, he said : ‘Though your 
sins be as scarlet, I will make them as wool.’ ” 

He then asked, regarding her with penetrating softness: 

‘^What is it you have not confided to me?” 

“ I told my child a lie. I told her we were penniless ; 
that was no hallucination. I wanted her to marry Alger- 
non Hastings. I told you a lie — God forgive me!” 

She had half risen — a beautiful Kemesis, alas! frail as 
fair, accusing herself. 

Dr. Angelan rose, hastily; there was blood on her lips. 
He put her gently back in her chair. One hand clutched 
her breast, her lips were deadly pale, and the crimson 
stream still issued from them. 

Hours after, when all things were ready, and he felt 
strong enough, he went to find Eeggie. 

The boy was on a diminutive bicycle, threading his 


180 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


way in and out around the stately plants and elegant vases 
of the conservatory, much to the annoyance of the nurse, 
who was saying, excitedly, in a voice pitched high with 
anger and impatience, as she followed him rapidly and 
kept him from running into, and literally demolishing 
the magnificent adornments: 

“ If the mistress was not sick I should go straight to 
her, you naughty, naughty boy!” Then turning, apolo- 
getically, to Dr. Angelan, whom she perceived standing in 
the doorway, she said : 

“We let him play anywhere, and anyhow, since all the 
trouble.” 

“All the trouble,” and still more! 

Dr. Angelan motioned, gently, to the child. Reggie got 
quickly down from his bicycle, which the woman was firmly 
holding. She had seized it as it was going headlong into an 
exquisite Etruscan vase, taller than Reggie and his bicycle, 
holding a wonderful fiower in full bloom. 

He started, joyously, to his friend, but, halting up, 
approached him solemnly, and asked in awe-stricken tones: 

“Dotta Angelan, w’at mates oo loot so?” 

The girl asked, in great alarm : 

“0, sir, is Miss Lenore dead?'* 

Reggie felt that “ dead” meant something terrible, but 
he did not in the least understand. As Dr. Angelan sat 
down and folded him in his arms, Reggie looked up once 
more to his face, and began to sob as if his little heart 
would break. 

How like Eleanor. There were tears in St. John An- 
golan’s eyes. 

He said, gently, to the nurse : 

“ Go and see what is the matter.” 

Left alone with the child and pressing him closer to 
his bosom, he said: 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


181 


Eeggie, would you not be glad to know that your dear 
mamma would never suffer any more pain?” 

The child stopped sobbing and lifted his eyes, again, 
up into Dr. Angolan’s face; his eyes, so like Eleanor’s, 
so full of mysteries and yet so clear ; now touchingly sad 
with yearning inquiry. 

How could he satisfy him? 

How could he satisfy her ? It came to St. John Angolan 
in that moment: the disclosure to her must come through 
him — from his own mouth. The task now before him, 
seemed easy compared to that. 

So gently and solemnly made he his explanation that 
the child’s great awe-stricken eyes never wavered from his 
face. He said : 

“ Your beautiful mamma will never suffer any more 
pain. I believe God has ‘healed all her disease. ’ Come 
and see how calm and sweet she looks.” 

It would seem almost impossible to believe that anything 
of earth, earthy, could ever have defiled that beautiful 
temple; and yet that hideous thing, worldly ambition, had 
but a short time before been dethroned from its high place 
there, and liad done such fearful things while it held 
sway ! Oh, could it be worse than he had been permitted to 
know? Was the “lie” which wrung her dying conscience, 
unexplained — the truth, still incomplete? Had she forced 
her daughter to marry this man, and then separated them? 
This suspicion filled up the measure of St. John Angolan’s 
cup. This, was the bitterness of his soul as he gazed on 
the pure and peaceful form lying before him in its still 
loveliness. 

Bousing himself for the present need, he said : 

“You see, Eeggie, she is freed from all pain, away from 
all the sorrows of earth.” 

The child’s face had never relaxed, and he was regard- 


182 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


ing the colorless, motionless one with a deep, mysterious 
look of inquiry. 

He had never before been in the presence of that un- 
fathomable mystery, death. 

The words burst from him almost in a wail: 

“Who am I dot now?” No one had explained it to 
him. The whiteness, the stillness, the voidness, the re- 
moteness — this, was mamma no longer — the child felt the 
separation. 

Dr. Swayne said to Margaret, who was slowly improving : 

“ Margaret, there is a beautiful little boy I wish to bring 
home with me for a few weeks — would you mind? He has 
a nurse who has been with him all his life, and so will be 
no care to you. I think our little ones would enjoy him.” 

Her affliction had toned her down to a humility that 
was touching. She had not yet regained her strength, and 
was taking everything so patiently — or was it listlessly? — 
that Horace’s uneasiness and deep concern for her had 
rather increased than abated. Perhaps this other little 
life would work a change. The household would not be 
exactly the same, anyway. 

She assented passively, as she had done to everything 
since that night. It seemed to be her expiation. 

Maud and Madge took to the little comrade at once. 

From the very first moment of his entrance into the 
Swayne mansion, Eeggie had become a pet. Even Mar- 
garet, seeing the enthusiasm over the little boy beauty, be- 
gan to feel her love go out to him. 

There was such an aching void in her breast — and the 
little boy’s history was so touching; fatherless, motherless, 
almost alone in the world — his beautiful sister at the 
asylum! He should take Angela’s place — oh, could it 
be that she should ever atone for that sin? She would try 
to be a mother to this motherless one. Could she — she 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. ISB 

who had never, she thought with bitter self-loathing, been 
a mother to her own beautiful little ones? 

Such repentance had come to her that she longed and 
prayed continually that her husband’s God would put 
something in her hands to do, that she might feel her 
self-respect return, once more. And now the work seemed 
plain to her. Ah, that she might show this beloved hus- 
band of hers that she was not utterly unworthy of his noble 
confidence. In our weakness, how strong we are! Oh! 
Margaret Swayne, will strength bring back your great 
weakness? 

She wanted to know all about him. Dr. Swayne told 
her, then, that Mrs. Ward had left a will in which she 
specified that Dr. Angelan should be the boy’s guardian, 
and that her whole estate should be managed by him until 
Eleanor, her daughter, should be restored to it. To the 
Nazarene Hospital she bequeathed the sum of fifty thou- 
sand dollars. It passed strangely through Horace Swayne ’s 
mind, as he mentioned the amount, what St. John had 
said that morning: ‘‘ If the Lord wills the man shall have 
what he wants, in no wise else; and if I am to lose it — ” 
But here it is, in only a few weeks, supplied to St. John 
again — every dollar — while he — oh! what had he and 
Margaret not suffered for his turbulent disregard of his 
Master’s commands? Obedience — disobedience — what a 
concatenation of circumstances follows each, the one to 
honor, the other to dishonor — the one to peace, the other 
to misery. The thoughts had arrested his tongue and his 
face had something of anguish in it. The mention of the 
sum had affected Margaret, similarly. Her eyes, too, gath- 
ered something from his face. Each met shame and con- 
trition in the other’s gaze. 

He went on, hurriedly : 

“In a closed envelope, addressed ‘To him who pointed 


184 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


me the way,’ was written, ‘Place upon my tomb, I believe 
in the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. 

Eleanor Ward, 

Aged 45.’ ” 

It touched Margaret, deeply. Such a strange thing, 
that a woman of fashion and wealth should come to this. 

What exaltation! and yet it seemed to this woman, 
reared as Mrs. Ward had been, that there was something 
to be ashamed of, in it all. How mysterious and unsatis- 
fying, how wearying, and wearing, it all is! She had to 
give it up and come to this, a simple headstone with a 
simple confession — a truth, which she had denied all her 
life. What had brought about the change? Margaret 
was sure it must have been the great trouble of her daugh- 
ter’s misfortune. Only sorrow leads that way — sorrow and 
remorse. Oh ! they had been hers — would they lead her 
to that, too? She scarcely wished it. She only felt con- 
scious of the yearning, ever-present desire to do something, 
be something, that would do away with the bitter self- 
loathing, the remorse for her conduct of that night and 
the many other nights and days which now rose up to 
accuse her of unfaithfulness and folly. 

She knew it was now here for her to do — to be a mother 
to the orphan, and more than ever a mother to her own 
lovely ones. And still it seemed a task to her — such a 
task ! She almost shrank from it. How could she train 
him? She was so weak. Why was this added to her 
burden? But the child’s own winningness and beauty 
appealed to her senses. Unconsciously this strange ele- 
ment, the sturdy, rollicking boy nature, overcame the dead 
calm. She had taken hold of the training of the children 
before she was aware of it, and there was tonic in it. 


CHAPTER XII. 


D E. angel an had been telling Mrs. Mathers about 
Mrs. Ward’s death. 

It shocked and alarmed her. Indeed, that wise, 
strong woman felt a great fear come over her. 

"‘St. John,” she asked, “what will be the consequences 
with Eleanor?” 

Even as he answered her, she felt her strength coming 
back to her. 

“Dear Mrs. Mathers, does God undo His work? Who 
accomplished this change in her — did we?” 

She was almost smiling on him as she said : 

“ 0 son, great is thy faith.” 

And then another fear seized her. 

“ This wound — are you strong enough? Who else could 
soften the blow? How would she receive it from any one 
else?” There was a tremor in her voice and a conscious 
something in her eye which made the color come in a 
deeper tinge above the brown beard, but he said, with 
vehement rejection : 

“ The wound is the smallest consideration.” Then with 
fierce pain: “Mrs. Mathers, I wish, now, to be a friend to 
Eleanor Ward.” The sharp, swift hurrying of the words 
alarmed the matron so that she could not speak. 

After a moment or two, in which everything seemed 
swept from under him, he exclaimed : 

“ The strain is even greater! Will my strength endure? 
Mrs. Mathers, do you ever feel the weight of the cross — ■ 
the full weight?” His eyes were blazing with such a 

185 


186 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


strange, bewildered light, and these incoherences were so 
unlike him that Mrs. Mathers took the alarm. 

St. John,” she cried, hurriedly, fearfully, is that man 
— the man who shot you — is he Eleanor Ward’s husband?” 

“I fear so — ah, God pity me! I fear so.” 

Mrs. Mathers could only sit down in dumb surprise, 
trembling violently. 

A long, shuddering sigh aroused her. 

“Ah, St. John ” But the words died on her lips. 

He had lifted his gaze, and with interlocked hands stood 
speechless. For a while he was motionless, then he turned, 
and walked slowly out of the room. 

Mrs. Mathers followed softly; she saw him wander to 
the far end of a corridor, and there, in the remoteness 
and the dusk, the dim light of a narrow window falling 
faintly on him, she beheld him, again with uplifted eyes 
and hands. 

Eleanor had just come in and Kitty was with her, and 
their arms were full of brilliant autumn leaves. 

In the entrance hall St. John met her, face to face. 

Hers was radiant, his, almost ghostly. 

She exclaimed, impeding his way: 

“ I have been counting the days, and to-day is the very 
last — to-morrow, I go home.” 

He stood gazing at her as one in a dream. His presence 
of mind seemed utterly to have forsaken him. Where 
had his power gone — his strength for others? 

He put his hand up to his head in a helpless, troubled 
way, and said in a voice which sounded to himself far 
away and strange : 

“ Excuse me, this evening, Eleanor, and — God be with 
you ! Good-night.” 

And now he could only go away, and wrestle with his 
God in prayer. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


187 


In the morning his course lay clear and ‘^strait” before 
him. Strong, grand soul! but, as a little child weaned 
of its mother, heard your God, your human heart cry, 
through all the long, dark hours of the night. 

Kitty, with the look of a frightened hare in her dark 
blue, Irish eyes, opened Eleanor Ward’s door, timidly, for 
Dr. Angelan. Then she slipped out and sped swiftly 
along the hall. Alonza had told her — ^^and the dear 
young lady, she lookes so gaye ond so bright thot it 
quoite tackes mee breath awaye to thaink of it!” She 
heaved a panting breath and stood, trembling and white, 
listening. 

The room was decorated with gay leaves. A bright fire 
lit up the hearth; and Eleanor had fancifully dressed her- 
self in a bright scarlet peasant gown, her hair caught 
loosely under a jaunty velvet cap. She made these toilets, 
sometimes, from sheer weariness of the monotony, and it 
did not seem to her at all strange, she was so accustomed 
to the many changes girls of fashion indulge in. 

Her mother had sent much of her wardrobe — all costly 
and elegant, for she had nothing plain — and since her 
convalescence she had followed her usual habit of suiting 
her toilets to the hour. She would be a little annoyed at 
Mrs. Mathers’ grave look when they were either extreme 
or fantastic. 

This morning the matron had actually tried to dissuade 
her from the indulgence of her gay fancy for the day, but 
she had said, joyously: 

“ I go home to-day — it is a gala day. I must decorate 
myself, and my room!” 

Then Mrs. Mathers was really stern, but Eleanor kissed 
her face, and eyes, and the bands of white hair, and Mrs. 
Mathers had to pull the clinging, caressing arms from 
about her and go, hurriedly, out of the room. 


188 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


Tall and superb as was her figure, the piquant dress 
gave her a look of extreme youth and buoyant freshness. 

She came straight to him in an audacious way, and said : 

I know I shall shock you, but I am so tired of every- 
thing here — the quietness, the sombreness, the dreariness 
— and I am so glad that I am going, I wished to make 
a festal day of it.'' 

She had often seen him look troubled at these speeches 
of hers, but now there was an awfulness of gravity about 
his whole manner that stayed the'smile even on her red lip. 

He was scarcely conscious of what he said, himself. His 
voice was deeply troubled, and his eyes dwelt on her with 
unspeakable tenderness of compassion : 

‘^Eleanor, go change that dress to one of some simple, 
grave stuff — it pains me to see you in it." 

How dared he ! her face was fiaming as her dress. For 
a moment she stood rooted to the spot, and looked defiantly 
in his face. And then he repeated with still deeper com- 
passion, but his eyes had something masterful in them : 

‘^Go, Eleanor; I shall wait here for you. I have some- 
thing to tell you." 

When she came back she glided softly forward, her 
dress indeed of “some simple, grave stuff" — like moon- 
light in color, and there was a subtle change in her whole 
face and mien. 

She had been undergoing some close self-examination 
in those short moments. 

Could she give them up, even for him — these sumptuous 
garments that made her so fair to behold? 

She knew — by the light of the Book he had given her, 
her conscience had got a glimmering of this — that it was 
sinful, selfishly sinful, this lavishness on her person. 
Could she give it up for him? 

Yes, she could certainly sacrifice something in color. The 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


189 


supple form, swaying before the mirror in this soft moon- 
light grace of garment, did not depend upon color. In 
whatever it was draped it was perfect, surmounted by that 
matchless face, whose beauty no contact of color or texture 
could lessen. Yes, she could afford to please him! She 
wanted to see his face lighten; and when she went forth 
into it all, again, she might indulge herself, too. The last 
thought gave her a kind of trembling exultation. Free 
again — out from under the restraint of this simple, weari- 
some existence. That, did not mean separation from St. 
John Angolan. She felt her power. 

She had not meant to say any such thing, but as his 
tender, full eyes rested on her and he remained silent, she 
exclaimed, in piteous appeal: 

0 Dr. Angolan, best of friends, tell me, how shall I 
live better, he better when I go back to my world, again?” 

He always seemed to be searching the depths and bring- 
ing up something in her that she did not care for him to 
know was there — that she was scarcely conscious was there 
herself. “I am so tired of all this, and I am longing so 
for that — yet I dread, and am frightened at the thought 
of facing myself there again. 0, will it be the idle, the 
selfish, the thoughtless, the soulless creature I was before 
— before — my trouble?” 

She trembled, she faltered, for his face had such a 
meaning that she felt herself in the presence of some un- 
defined horror. His deep tones uttered : 

“ ‘He tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. ’ ” 

Her face became suddenly rigid and white; she stood in 
his presence as if seized with a great terror. 

“ 0 Eleanor Ward, I would that I could stand in your 
stead and receive the blow!” 

Then he told her she was motherless. 

Neither could remember the words that he used. She 


190 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


gazed in his face with a stunned, incredulous, agonized 
look, then she cried out, bitterly, rebelliously : 

“Now is this God showing me His wrath, again! Oh! 
how are things changing for me. ” A great storm of sorrow 
swept over her face, a shudder ran through her whole 
frame, and then she cried out again, and the slow, wailing 
voice seemed to touch his soul with sorrow, like unto hers : 

“How can I live without her! Mother! Mother!” 

Commanding herself, she asked, with sudden dire appeal : 

“ Dr. Angelan, tell me of her — how faced she the awful 
thing, death?” 

After her first outburst, the majesty of her grief was but 
another revelation of the dignity of this royal creature. 
It was but another leaf of the book. 

She sat with weird, inscrutable eyes and drank in every 
detail, and did not fall to weeping until he told her of 
the simple inscription, “ I believe in the Lord and Saviour 
Jesus Christ.” Then indeed, the fountains of her being 
seemed broken up. 

The blow was so sudden, and she had such self-command 
for a present emergency, that she did not in the least 
realize how this great bereavement was to affect her whole 
life. 

It comforted her to know that Reggie was with Dr. 
Swayne’s family. 

After the funeral services, which were imposing, as be- 
fitted their station — Eleanor could not yet sacrifice this; 
not now, upon this occasion, anyway, it would seem like a 
want of respect, nay, reverence; Dr. Angelan had left it 
all to her decision — after the magnificent display of 
slowly moving, champing, high-stepping, elegant horses, 
and silver-mounted equipages, with liveried servants, and 
solemn occupants; and the last sad rites in the closely 
crowded, fashionable city of the dead, Eleanor begged of 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


191 


Mrs. Mathers and Dr. Angelan to take her back to the 
asylum for a while, at least. It seemed to her, now, like a 
haven of rest. She implored to be taken back to it. How 
could she endure the other, the desolation of the great 
place? Gone — her mother gone, forever! The condolences 
— the tide — Ms presence — his sympathies, perhaps — the 
man, how she loathed him! She shuddered, and her soul 
turned sick at the thought of it all — everything that she 
had not faced for months. 

She begged for Eeggie to be brought to her, daily. 

And Dr. Angelan yearned over the two with a pity that 
made his great heart ache within him. 

As weeks passed. Dr. Angelan saw that it would not do; 
she was growing thin and pale, and seemed to be brooding; 
a change was necessary. 

He had no fear for her mind, but she had had enough 
of inaction. She must go back to scenes that would rouse 
her out of this deep dejection. She must take up life 
once more. 

Bitter as the parting would be, the knowledge that the 
breadth of the city would be between them, he wished 
it — his stern sense of honor demanded it; desolate, as the 
suspicion that she was the wife of another man — no after- 
law could abrogate that with St. John Angelan — wretched, 
as this thought at times made him, above it all the Com- 
forter still whispered : If ye abide in my love, and my words 
abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be 
done unto you.'' And he went forward with his work in 
a steadfastness of faith that accomplished wonders. 

Just at this time there was a sensation at the ISTazarene. 

Kitty disappeared. 

She had been there since she was a slip of a girl in her 
first teens; and now she was gone, leaving no trace behind 
her. 


192 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


Only Teddy had never lost sight of her. He was gone, 
too. 

Late at night, he came in. 

‘‘And, Teddy, is the business all done, fairly and 
squarely?” 

When Dr. Angelan asked the question, which he did 
with some quiet amusement, the solemnity of Teddy’s 
manner struck him as peculiarly ludicrous. 

He had thought Teddy and Kitty in shame-faced pro- 
priety had gone off together and had the banns performed 
— perhaps to some neighboring priest, having been brought 
up, strictly, in the Catholic faith. 

But he saw his mistake, at once. Teddy’s wrath startled 
him. 

“ Oi’ll belabor him! if it’s the last act ov me loife, ond 
I sh’u’d have to spind the rist av me dayes in the pinetin- 
tiary, or oun the galluse. To come a-thavin’ a men’s 
property roight under his vairy nose. Oi’ll tache him to 
looke loike a picthure! Och, he’ll be loike Paddy was — 
whin he was oil besmoshed up about the head^ — whin he 
lookes at himself he’ll beelave it’s the wrong mon, and a 
nagur at thot!” 

There was something so vengeful under this rapid un- 
loading of words that Dr. Angelan could not smile, ludi- 
crous as they were. 

*‘What is it, Teddy?” he asked, with quick interest. 

“It’s the cotchmon, boghorry, sor.” 

Terse as the answer was, St. John took in the situation. 

“Oi tould him, wan daye, Oi’d belabor him if I cot him 
meddlin’ aroound here woith me property, ond — ond — 
thot is whoy he snaked of. Not so sly, aither, thot Teddy 
didn’t obsarve him, ond but fer the creathures thot wos 
too fost fer me leigs, Oi wad have hed the pooer girrul out 
of the cotch, ond gev the spalpeen a drubbin’, roight then.” 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


193 


‘‘But, Teddy, are you sure of it?” asked Dr. Angelan, 
with great concern, for he knew how this faithful Teddy 
doated on the young Irish woman. 

“Ond — ond — is it thrue thot Oi see ye wid me two 
oyes this blessed meenit, Misther Ongelan? Faith! oris 
it aslape, ond draming, thot I am?” 

He did looked dazed, but slapping himself on the knee, 
vigorously, he exclaimed: “Och, ond bye the Vargin 
Maery, Oi woish Oi was as shure thot Oi’m not a living 
mon. But Oi’ll beelabor him ond sind him home some 
foine noight to me own pooer girrul no purtier nor Teddy 
O’Brien” — and he actually laughed in his desperation. 
“Faith, he’s beauteeful, ond he’s winnin’,” with derisive 
contempt, “but Teddy’ll faix him!” 

And then Dr. Angelan got the whole story from him, 
which Teddy seemed to have gleaned from peepings and 
eavesdroppings to which his suspicions and jealousy had 
driven him. 

“I wouldn’t have believed it of Kitty,” Dr. Angelan 
exclaimed in much surprise, for he knew her staunchness. 
It puzzled him to imagine how the man had gotten at her. 

The way in which Teddy made it plain to him was pa- 
thetic in its loyalty, but ludicrous. 

“ Ah, now, Misther Ongelan, wad ye be afther blaming 
the pooer girrul?” His tones were touching in their re- 
spectful upbraiding; then defensively and vindictively: 
“ It wur Mm — the thafe — the robber — him, woith his face 
ond his cluths. How c’u'd a poor girrul thot was prom- 
ised to sich ez yer oyes rist upon now, stond aghenst sich 
ez Mm 9 ” 

Dr. Angelan held a mental comparison between the irre- 
sistible Jehu and the red-faced, stiff-haired, short-legged 
Hibernian before him, and as to externals the argument 
was convincing. The voice and words exposed the fine, 
13 


194 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


loyal soul, but the face was almost idiotic in its contending 
emotions. 

So long, and devotedly, had Teddy served him, and so 
close had been the watch care with which he had guarded 
this poor, weak fellow -man that an attachment stronger 
and deeper than that which knits equals had bound them 
together. 

Dr. Angelan only felt and saw the inner man. His ugli- 
ness and ungainliness struck him, now, almost as a revela- 
tion as he contrasted him with the dashing, immaculately 
attired coachman who had driven him, daily, to Mrs. 
Ward’s. 

But as he gazed, something grew in his eyes; he said, 
tenderly : 

Teddy, you are a noble fellow, and there is nothing in 
him^ as Kitty will learn to her sorrow.’' Then with a 
cheerier ring: ‘‘You are better without Kitty’s tongue 
than with it, my boy. Let him alone,” he added signifi- 
cantly. “ You have a better work, here. Keep straight 
paths for your feet — you have gotten above these street- 
brawls. There are better things for you to do, my 
man.” 

For days Dr. Angolan’s watchful care over this humble 
friend and servant was so tender and close that it was 
impossible for him to find the heart, or the opportunity to 
sate the desire that was yet gnawing in his heart. But 
Teddy in his inmost soul felt that he could never be any- 
thing but a “ coward and a sneak ” until he had dis- 
charged a sacred duty to himself as an injured man. And 
in nights, as of old, in dozings and noddings and dream- 
ings waiting for Dr. Angelan, he would sleep, and dodge, 
and blink, and mutter — but with a difference — and some- 
times in goaded frenzy, cry out : 

“ Och, now, Misther Ongelan, a mon must be a mon, ye 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


195 


knowe — ond — ond Oi’ll niver proove it to meeself till Oi’ve 
besmoshed him/* 

And so it happened one day that he came in radiant, 
and went straight to St. John and made his confession. 

Which, truth to say, relieved St. John himself very 
greatly, for he was afraid of another and more distressing 
form his disappointment, and the thwarting of all his 
purposes, might have taken. His besetting sin was so 
strong, St. John felt that nothing but the grace of God 
would ever wholly conquer it. 

‘‘ Ond now Oi con go to me worruk waith a light hearrut, 
ond — ond Oi con love the Lorrud, ond Oi con praise Him, 
Misther Ongelan, for Oi’ve done mee dooty! 0, now, 
docther,** with the most insinuating sweetness, rolling his 
watery little eyes up into St. John’s face, ^‘doun’t, doitnH 
saye wan worrud! Eevinge is’ sivate! Ond Oi’m don, 
Oi’ll promise ye thot — ond Teddy, ye knowe, is os gude os 
his worrud whin the bottle’s not possed aroound.” 

Teddy’s eyes glistened with such satisfaction that Dr. 
Angelan, indeed, could find no words with which to chide 
him. But as Teddy by no means feels sure of his appro- 
val, he explains a little less confidently, but with elaborate 
logic : 

“It hod to be doone, or I c’u’d niver looke a mon in 
the eye, or containue a dacent Irishmon. Perhaps ye 
moind, Misther Ongelan, thot I c’u’d niver since the toime, 
looke ye shtraight in the face ” (if Teddy could deceive 
himself, he could not deceive St. John ; he knew the real 
reason why this determined avenger of his own wrongs 
could not look squarely at him), “but hod, so to spake, jist 
to looke at ye woith me oyes upoun the fiure er upoun the 
sailing — shure ond Oi felt meeself sich a sneake ond a 
coward. Ond — ond the nagging creathure in me kept 
a-repating to me the toime through, day ond noight, 


196 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


‘Teddy, ye’ll niver be a men till ye’ve done it.’ Ond the 
v’ice wos so loued thot I c’u’d not hear the leetle smoll 
v’ice thot kipt sich a whaispering awaye down somewheer, 
wheer mee hearrut was a-bating so fost — ond — ond the 
v’ice sounded fer oil the worruld loike yourren, Misther 
Ongelan, ‘Let him aloone, Teddy, there’s better things fer 
you thon these strate broils;’ but, Misther Ongelan, the 
creathure in me c’u’d talk loueder thon the v’ice, ond — 
ond — it wad niver lit me rist daye nor noight, so it hod to 
be done — or worse.’’ The other alternative was fully ex- 
pressed in Teddy’s lengthening of face and solemnity of 
tone. Something rose in Dr. Angelan’s throat as he 
realized how this poor weak nature had been put to in this 
struggle of nature against nature, and gave to his whole 
face a softening from which Teddy took license, and 
launched forth as best suited his Irish loquacity. 

“You moind, Misther Ongelan,” with knowing winks, 
“ theis ceety’s brodd,” and with wise, self-satisfied shakings 
of the head, “but there’s no place in it, belowe nor above, 
insoide nor outsoide, tack it acros or oop ond dowen, 
wheere thot mon c’u’d hoide from Teddy. Fer Oi’d sed 
to mee-self, ‘Teddy, thot’s got to be doone — or warse,’ ond 
be the Vargin Maery it c’u’d not be warse, seein’ as Oi’d 
promised mee owen ghost Oi’d quit ’um”— his winks were 
so significant that St. John, involuntarily, motioned his 
head forward to let him know he understood what he 
meant — “so it hod to be doone — ond — it’s doone!” He 
brought the conjunction out slowly and the other words 
with a jerk, satisfaction on every lineament. “The 
ceety’s big ond it’s woide; it ixtinds from the aisfc to the 
west ond from the narth to the south, ond the strates are 
thot twaisted thot they w’u’d puzzle a Philadelphia I’yer; 
but, bye the powers, Oi foound him — ond — ond av Kitty the 
darlint” — his voice caught on the words in a way that was 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


197 


ludicrously pathetic — “ Oi saye av Kitty knowes him to- 
noight, she’ll knowe thot it’s meeself, Teddy O’Brien, 
thot’s bin about him!'* Then with concentrated disgust 
and exultation, he hissed through his clinched teeth : “ The 
desaving, snaking, thaving, whoitewashed sapulchre!" 

Pulling himself together with a dignity both comic and 
touching, he said in a tone that St. John liked: 

“Ond now Oi’m done, and it’s oil said, and Oi’m 
through, mee goode, koind docther, ond no fear but Oi’ll 
kape oun the thrack, fer Oi’ll hev no bother of Kitty’s 
toongue, thot c’u’d staing loike a bay,” he muttered, ten- 
derly, under his breath, but the hooney wos theere, oil 
the same.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


M argaret SWAYHE’S first drive was to see 
Eleanor Ward. 

It seemed to Horace too mucli happiness that 
she should be restored to him, and was now willing to go 
with him to the place, which of all the earth, she had hated 
the most. 

She had herself asked to go there with him to see Miss 
Ward. 

The two seemed drawn together. They might have met 
a score of times — they had met a score of times — but in- 
stead of the cord that now drew them together there had 
been a barrier. Rival beauties (though these two could 
afford to be generous), there was a slight hauteur which 
kept them asunder. 

Now, destiny had linked them. Margaret Swayne and 
Eleanor Ward recognized, each in the other, something 
new and strange, born of sorrow. 

Margaret’s evident fondness for Reggie warmed Eleanor’s 
heart toward her as nothing else could have done. And 
she looked so frail with her large, brilliant eyes and the 
vivid spot on either cheek. 

Dr. Swayne, ardent and impulsive, with no seriousness 
of thought in the outlook, rejoiced in the hope of the in- 
timacy that must grow out of the circumstances which 
had brought these two together here. 

Dr. Angelan, weighing things, felt that each of these 
natures would be a strength to the other if but the grace 
198 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


199 


of God tempered them ; and to this end his prayers went 
up continually, with faith nothing wavering.” 

The day had come when she must indeed go back to it 
all, again. Life! how she shrank from the thought of 
facing it, back there. What strange and awful things had 
happened to her — she could see no mercy in this! Two 
weeks, and yet she could scarcely realize that the weary 
self, so reluctant to leave the place from which she was but 
a short time before so eager to be gone, could be the same 
as that buoyant creature who had wished to make a gala 
day of that other. 

She looked unusually tall in her plain black robes as 
she leaned, wearily, against the mantel. 

She was gazing with full eyes on the fine face of the 
matron, intent on some needlework, but in its lines Eleanor 
saw that which was working in her own heart. 

“Mrs. Mathers!” The matron’s eyes went up with the 
same fulness of meaning to meet the large, mournful ones 
bent upon her. “ If I might just take you with me, I 
would feel stronger; but to go back into it again, alone!” 

“‘He tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.’” They 
must be applicable to her; Mrs. Mathers used them, and he 
had used them. 

“ It will not be the same to you. He makes a shelter 
for us from the storm, a shade from the burning sun. 
Your grief, your loss, will make it all different. The 
world will not have the same power over you” — was she a 
prophetess? — “the trouble that brought you here, your ex- 
perience, here — I have noticed you closely, my dear one” — 
there was a solemn earnestness in her fine face and voice 
that made Eleanor Ward tremble; an expression of his 
came to her like a flash, “ It is even as solemn a thing to 
live in Christ as to die in him.” All such thoughts 
thronged on her, lately, and made her dread the contact 


200 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


with things she thought she would so willingly lay down 
now, if she could only remain buried away off here from 
them all. 

“Your trouble and your experience/’ the matron went 
on, “ the phase of life you have been compelled to study — 
made like unto them,” she said tenderly, but impressively, 
“ as you have been, you cannot go back and forget them. 
Eleanor, you cannot go back and clothe and feed and 
pamper yourself with the gold that would relieve so much 
misery, even in this city. ‘Whom He loveth He chasten- 
eth.’ He sent you here to be healed. He did heal you 
through the faith of His servant, St. John Angelan.” 

There was that in the enunciation of the name — or was 
it in the name itself? — which opened a heavenly some- 
thing to her view, and made all things seem possible to 
her. An ecstatic light flamed up over her face as Mrs. 
Mathers exclaimed : 

“ I can trust you back there, alone — and yet, not alone, 
for the same faithful servant of the Most High is your 
friend. Eleanor Ward with her thousands, though, is no 
more to him than would be Eleanor Ward with not where 
to lay her head.” 

There might be a double meaning in this, but there was 
only one thought to the woman who had been troubling 
and wearying over the question. Would their lives diverge? 
Just for one moment she had caught a glimpse of how 
indissolubly they were bound, and there was hope and life 
in it. 

“But if I might just take you with me,” she said, long- 
ingly, again. Then, as if realizing all that this meant, she 
exclaimed : “ See how intensely selflsh I am ! I would — 
yes, I would, if you could be induced to make a sacriflce 
of all your grand principles — I would take you away with 
me to-day, and. you should be mine alone, my teacher and 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


201 


my shield, and I might then hope to he something,” with 
almost desperate vehemence. “ I would not care, I would 
scarcely think of these poor things to whom you minister, 
daily — for I think I need you as much as they do.” 

“‘Grand principles’ did you say, Eleanor?” Mrs. 
Mathers repeated, looking on her with noble, penetrating 
eyes. “ It would seem to me to be as grand a work to go 
with you, and be the stay and strength you long for, as to 
remain here for what the world might look upon as a 
larger one. ‘ A cup of cold water ’ given in the name of 
Christ is as great a power for good under the management 
of the Spirit as the most munificent donation. True 
charity is generally found much in little — never, little in 
much.” 

“It is all so wearying and wearing; this strange thing, 
called religion, is so confusing.” 

“0, no, Eleanor,” Mrs. Mathers returned; “this is very 
plain, is it not? ‘Pure religion is to visit the fatherless 
and the widows, and keep yourself unspotted from the 
world.’ ” 

“But where shall I begin when I go back — visit the 
slums?” Then quickly: “Ah! no, I could never do that; 
they are too horribly filthy and coarse — I could never put 
myself in contact with such.” 

Mrs. Mathers knew that she could not, and that there 
would be nothing but an overstrained idea of charity to 
lead her there in her present state of feelings and con- 
ditions; so she said: 

“ The religion of Christ is a force. When you possess 
it, it takes you whithersoever the Spirit leadeth. Dear 
Eleanor, you may not then stand waiting and looking to 
the right and to the left, but will cry, ‘Lord, what wilt 
thou have me to do?’ and the Spirit will say unto you, 
‘Go thou and do this, or that, which the Master has com- 


203 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


manded. ’ You will not have to hunt in the slums for a 
work of charity — works of love — they will meet you on 
every hand. Be sure thou doest faithfully what thy hands 
find to do — with this alone, comes the blessing of this life. 
Is the command to you, ‘ Keep yourself unspotted from the 
world,’ the work comes all along with it. 0, you will 
find your hands full — full, my dear one, if you do well, 
what your hands find to do. The religion of Christ sug- 
gests, ay, and executes.’' 

But there was nothing tangible — it was all so elusive. 
Mrs. Mathers could not explain it to her. Dr. Angelan 
could not make it plain to her, and it all seemed imagi- 
nary, their ideas about things that were so different to her 
but a short time ago. 

But there was one thing real. She had to go back to 
the old life, and she dreaded it, much as she had longed 
for it only a few days before. It was all so different, now. 
Her bereavement — the home without her — this confronted 
her — stared her in the face. What would the house be 
without her, the worshipping mother, and how could she 
face them all, alone? It began to loom upon her, the 
nature of her affliction ; the sensation it must have created 
in her circles, and the talk it must have made. 

Then the dread of being compelled to meet that man, 
face to face, who had been the cause of it all — that was 
appalling ! 

Dr. Angelan came in just at this unguarded moment. 

Dr. Angelan, it is cruel for you to send me away when 
I am not able to go!” The vehemence of her manner 
alarmed him. “ I dread nothing, except death, more than 
I do to go back, just now. You don’t know my trouble, 
I have never told you,” her voice rang out sharply. “I 
go back to find in my path, continually, the man who has 
been the cause of all my trouble. I know I was to blame 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


203 


myself, and I know it is wrong to hate any one as I do 
him, hut how can I help it? Oh! I loathe him so!” she 
uttered with her old bitter disgust, and there was a help- 
less anguish in her face that brought back to him the 
memory of days when she would utter these words and look 
about her fearfully as if to escape this hated presence. 

He asked, suddenly, his eyes on her with eager, direful 
demand : 

‘‘Is he your husband?” Her eyes burned with the re- 
pudiated thought; she lifted her hands in horror. 

“Never! ah, never! it was the thought of it that drove 
me mad. I promised — and I loathed him so! And I am 
to meet him now, again, wherever I turn.” 

He would have liked to take the appealing face to his 
bosom, and lay his lips to the trembling parted ones that 
had but now spoken peace to his tortured conscience and 
troubled spirit. But he only said : 

“You may not find him, there.” 

His voice ran along her nerves like music that touches 
every sweet chord in the soul. 

A great ray of light crossed her face. In some seem- 
ingly impossible way had his faith accomplished this for 
her too? In her nervous excitement she caught at the 
wild hope. 

“Your mother explained things to me the day she 
brought you here, Eleanor ” 

“Then why did you imagine — why did you ask” — a 
burning flush suffused her face — cheek, temple, and brow; 
a flush as vivid and burning came above the brown beard, 
and he said quickly, answering her question : 

“Something that was said later — only a few days ago.” 
Then going on hurriedly to elude her questions, he said : 

“ The man came once and demanded to see you, but I 
refused him admittance” — he paused a moment, half smil- 


m 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


ing and shaking off his momentary embarrassment — “ and 
I will tell you what happened then. The man sprang upon 
the step and struck me in the face with his glove.” St. 
John Angelan looked so grand and kingly as he threw 
his head back and lifted his broad shoulders that Eleanor 
Ward exclaimed, as if expecting to hear of some valorous 
defence worthy of a thing so audacious : 

“And what did you do?” 

He answered, quietly: 

“1 did nothing; but Horace, our hot-headed Horace, 
sprang upon him like a tiger, and literally demolished 
him.” 

There was a revulsion of feeling — she was laughing, 
almost hysterically. 

But Dr. Angelan went on, seriously : 

“ It brought us trouble, as I knew it would. The man 
sued us for fifty thousand dollars.” 

“ What a creature ! And did you have to pay the enor- 
mous sum?” 

There was a mystical look in his eyes as he answered : 

“I did not lose it.” Then, almost immediately: “The 
man is now at an inebriate asylum, pronounced incurable.” 

“ That is what it was! Oh, that poisoned breath !” She 
shuddered, but she was out of his power now, thank God. 

“Is it wrong. Dr. Angelan, for me to rejoice — how can 
I help it — that anything, even so horrible, has taken him 
out of my way? Am I not selfish? I think of nothing 
but self — self — how I shall escape all of these things which 
will soon be surging on me.” 

One horror was removed out of her way, the hideous 
presence she had fancied would be always crossing her 
path to try, and to torture her. 

With the shuddering exultation came a great pity for 
the creature. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


205 


Her thoughts softened off into a dreamy longing — life 
might all come back to her smoothly, again. St. John 
Angelan was her friend — she triumphed in the thought 
that a strong hand should guide her. How would he look 
in other scenes? How would he seem in the splendor of 
such surroundings as theirs? A very king, her heart 
answered her, as he did everywhere. No background 
could change that royal form, that seraphic face. Now, 
as in her delusion, she saw in him something of a deliverer. 
She felt that he alone could rescue her from that which 
she shrank from, in the world back to which she was now 
going. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


T he hour had come. She touched, tenderly, every 
article of furniture in the simple apartment, and 
said to Mrs. Mathers, yearningly : 

‘‘ I would like to ask Dr. Angelan to shut this room up, 
for my sake. ” Her voice trembled, and she looked so touch- 
ingly sweet in her eagerness to explain — ‘‘ I mean, because 
I love it, because it was mine but the words and ideas 
were a tangle, still. “ I can’t bear to think of any one else 
in it. Would he, I wonder, think it one of my selfish 
whims? Indeed it is not, Mrs. Mathers — this place is to 
me, a shrine.*’ 

Mrs. Mathers dimly divined what exaltation of soul this 
young thing must have reached in these two short weeks. 
A prison — release. A shrine — dedication. Mrs. Mathers 
could not trust her voice. 

Eleanor said hurriedly, with a sudden rush of feeling in 
her tones : 

Do not say anything to him about it — please do not, 
Mrs. Mathers ! I shall leave this bunch of violets as I 
always have them ; and my chair just here by the window ; 
and my easel and my picture of Reggie. If I find them so, 
when I come again, I shall know” — she hesitated, and her 
voice almost palpitated, as she breathed — “ I shall know that 
he, too — that he has some idea of my feeling and respects 
it without my asking it of him.” 

Just as she was about to turn to the door after a last 
final look, Mrs. Mathers passed out, and St. John Angelan 
entered. 


206 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


207 


He was deadly pale, and moved as one hastened on by 
some relentless master. He went to the table, lifted the 
bunch of violets, and drank in a deep draught of their 
fragrance, pressing them passionately to his face; then he 
put them almost reverently back in the dish. He went to 
the western window, and resting his hand heavily on the 
chair beside it, stood for a moment looking out, and she 
could see that the white teeth under the incurling mus- 
tache gnawed the red under lip. He then turned to the 
woman who was regarding him with intense interest. 

“ I was just wondering, Eleanor, why it is, that parting 
gives such pain — the parting of a few days only; for, God 
willing, I shall see you again soon, very soon. But it 
seems to me now as I look on you,’' and his eyes were like 
coals of fire, ‘‘ and feel that I am losing your presence — 
your daily presence — -the sun seems slipping from the 
heavens.” 

He had not meant to say it, he did not wish to say it, 
but as she stood transfixed before him, her white hands 
pressed on her bosom as if to still its beating, a subtile 
enthusiasm breathing in every line of her face, his head 
seemed bursting, his heart seemed bursting, and the words 
came without any volition of his own — 

“ Eleanor, I love you !” 

And then it came over him — the words which he had 
spoken. 

He groaned audibly ; and with deeply troubled eyes and 
pale lips, but with a high, strong note that brought a 
quick and fervent response, he cried : 

‘^Eleanor, can you trust in me?” 

As I would in God! — if I knew Him,” she added with 
soft vehemence. 

Her eyes were two globes of light, and her lips were 
apart with a breathless rapture. 


208 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


For a moment his eyes blazed resplendently, then he 
cried : 

“ There is a barrier between us.” He scarcely realized 
what he was saying, and she — she was only conscious that 
St. John Angelan loved her, and her face was like the 
dawn, and her mouth was trembling, trying to form words 
with which to answer him. 

His soul seemed slipping away from him. ‘‘ There is a 
bariier between us, Eleanor,” he reiterated, with stern 
insistence, 

“0, how can that be?” broke from her lips in ecstatic 
incredulity. He loved her — what could part them? 

“Loyalty to my Lord’s commands.” 

The words sounded like a decree of death when there 
has been hope of release, life. 

Then he said, with unutterable love and tenderness: 

“ God forgive me, Eleanor, for saying those words to 
you. I had not meant to say them. I had no right to 
say them to you. Human love makes such weakness with 
us. I do not ask you to forget them, and I ask you to 
look to me as your best earthly friend ; and pray for me 
that my faith fail not.” 

With these incomprehensible words he walked rapidly 
out of the room. 

And now Mrs. Mathers was there, bonnetted and 
gloved, her majestic figure enveloped in a long cloak. 

Eleanor, as one in a dream, traversed the long corridor 
and hall with her, and did not realize, until she had 
entered her carriage and Mrs. Mathers had followed 
her in, what strength and blessedness were in store for 
her. 

When the carriage moved oil, she leaned her head on 
the matron’s breast, and wept as if her heart would 
break. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


209 


‘^Am I worthy of it all?'* she asked brokenly ; ‘^and why 
is it all such a torture? Mrs. Mathers, it is so good of 
you to go with me. I feel, now, that I should have died 
without you." 

Almost before they were aware of it they had stopped in 
front of a handsome residence, and in a little while Eeggie 
was in her arms, and there was balm in that. 

14 


OHAPTEE XV. 


S HE had gotten somewhat accustomed to the absence 
of the worshipping presence that had always been 
there — the influence that had swayed everything in 
those luxurious halls, and now she realized that the whole 
responsibility was hers. 

Mrs. Mathers had remained a week with her, and then 
had gone back to her work again. 

It was hard to leave the motherless young thing who 
clung to her so ardently, and, truth to say, the matron 
would gladly have exchanged her arduous duties for the 
lighter ones she would have found here, but her fealty to 
her God forbade. The suffering and demands, there, were 
so much greater. She could not leave the field so full of 
human suffering for one where burdens were lighter. 

She pitied the young, defenceless thing — so defenceless, 
it seemed to her, in her beauty and pride and wealth — al- 
most as much as if she had been some wanderer from door 
to door. She determined to help her to be what she had 
learned to long after, in that school of discipline into which 
the Lord had already thrown her. 

Eleanor had longed to ask Mrs. Mathers if St. John 
Angelan had ties, and yet she repudiated the thought in 
her own heart. Ties! ah, no — no earthly ties. Some self- 
consecrated task which prevented his taking on new re- 
sponsibilities. This, alone, could be that which governed 
such a man. 

As the days went into weeks and he did not come, her 
310 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


211 


heart burned with impatience and rebellion. How dared 
he tell her that? E^en he — that he loved her, but that 
there was a barrier? Her proud spirit revolted at the 
thought of a barrier which she herself had not raised. A 
barrier, indeed! In all the arrogance of her returned 
health and womanhood she resented the position. A 
barrier, indeed — how dared he ! 

Ah, yes, it must be that — it was it! He, even he, did 
not dare to ask her to sacrifice everything for him. Tur- 
bulent thoughts surged up in her bresast, rebellious 
thoughts that strove for the mastery over the thing that 
was rising and trembling in her soul, which was crying, 
“How grand he is, how far your superior! How could 
you dream to mate with him, to merge your careless, 
sinful, sensual life into his consecrated, devoted, holy one? 
His wife must be his ‘helpmeet!’ ” 

Sweet thoughts like these strove for the mastery, but 
her high pride trampled any idea of a barrier which she 
herself had not made. When weak and sick and in his 
care and under his guidance she might yield to him, he 
must have seen this, but he knew her — he knew she would 
never go back there. This would be a sacrifice he would 
never ask of her. 

But he had said it, that grand fact remained with her 
— he loved her, he loved her ! Somehow, some way, it 
would all come right. It 'was always so with him. She 
did not dream of the whole sacrifice : that the haughty, 
ease-loving, dress-loving, world-worshipper, Eleanor Ward, 
is the demand. The old Eleanor crucified unto the world, 
a new Eleanor risen in Christ Jesus. 

He dared not claim her yet, and St. John Angelan could 
not explain this to the woman to whom his soul clave ; he 
could only trust that this blessedness might be for them. 
The mother’s death and will made the separation he had 


213 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


intended to put between them, impossible. The mother’s 
will interlocked his life with hers by duties that would 
throw him with her, from time to time, in the most inti- 
mate companionship. So now he could only pray for 
strength to be to her, and to himself, what he ought to be 
in the sight of his Almighty God. 

He did not wish to be like a brother to her — he did not 
pray for that. Ah, no : this love, while a torture, was yet 
a blissful hope. He wished its roots to remain deep and 
strong until the time for it to lift itself ; until the flower- 
ing-time for them both. Yes, his soul turned to that with 
a hope strong and abiding. 

But his steadfast faith in the goodness of God and the 
sureness of His mercy toward them that trust in His prom- 
ises did not subdue the human longing and aching for 
the beloved one, yet in the bonds of the flesh; dear to him 
in her worldliness, dear to him in her every mood and 
short-coming, dear to him as the apple of his eye; but 
not so dear to him that he might swerve from his allegi- 
ance to his Lord’s commands. 

In his patience St. John Angelan possessed his soul. 
He could wait. Yes, he could wait upon the Lord, and 
his reward would be rich, the sufferings of these present 
times not to be compared to it ! He had all the promises, 
“ If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall 
ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.’' ‘^What- 
soever ye ask the Father in my name, it shall be granted 
unto you” — and all the soul-strengthening and cheering 
rewards our tender Heavenly Father has held out to us as 
blessings of this life for our close obedience to His word. 

The weeks which followed Eleanor Ward’s departure 
from the Nazarene were the most difficult ones of St. 
John Angolan’s life. He said to his love, “Be still; I 
must be about my Master’s work,” and where the Spirit 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


213 


led, he followed. The track seemed paved with fire at 
times, but well he knew the path he trod would lead to 
‘^heavenly places.” His courage never faltered, but in 
after-years he did not like to talk of that time. 

He gave himself wholly to a desperate case of inebriacy 
at a hospital several miles from the city. He had to 
struggle with a fiend and Avear down his animosity. But 
he conquered his enemy. 

He “overcame evil with good.” And he cured his 
patient. 

The days had begun to be so burdensome to Eleanor. 
The ceremony and splendor of her own home wearied her. 
What was it all without himV And then her soul would 
lift itself in revolt at the thought of giving it all up — the 
ease, the splendor, the delight to the senses — for that^ 
and there rose on her vision the haunted, hungry eyes, and 
in her ears the ceaseless, meaningless chatter, and in her 
memory the monotonous routine ; a never-ending sameness 
of duties to those mindless, pitiful, horrible creatures. 
Then under sudden, strange exaltation she would cry out, 
“Umvorthy — unworthy, how could you dream to mate 
with him?” and all of his sacrifice, and all of the beauty 
and kingliness of his presence would come to her, and she 
Avould murmur: 

“ My lion ! I always knew when he was going to put 
forth his strength — he would shake those grand shoulders, 
and his eye was like lightning.” 

He loved her! This beautiful truth remained with 
her. 

She was arraying herself against him. She wanted to be 
resentful ; she wanted to let him see that his power over 
her Avas not so complete. She would die rather than let 
him know how the days dragged and lengthened, and how 
she had listened and longed for his coming, and how heart- 


214 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


sick and weary she had grown for a sight of him, for the 
sound of his voice. 

When he did come she could only go forward to him 
with hands extended, and all the joy at meeting him and 
feeling the light of his eyes upon her in her whole radiant 
face, and say in trembling, palpitating reproach : 

« Why have you stayed away so long?’' 

“ So long, is it?” he answered in full, melodious tones. 
“Have you been so idle, Eleanor?” 

A burning flush rose to her cheek as she thought of the 
nothing accomplished, the days wasted in bitter repining. 

“Dr. Angelan,” she said imploringly, “tell me lioio to 
do, what to do!” Thus appealed to he did, indeed, tell 
her. 

“ Search the word ; find out what there is to do, and 
turn where you may, the work will be for you on every 
hand. Does it tell you to visit the fatherless and the 
widows? Learn how full this city is, and visit them ‘in 
their affliction’ — visit them with your bounty. He has 
blessed you : bless them. Does it tell you to do unto others 
as you would have others do unto you? Find where there 
is sickness and want, and if you do not go yourself, send 
help. But, Eleanor, I am sure that you have strength 
within yourself, and it needs not that I shall point you 
out your duty.” 

What resolutions rose with this expression of his confi- 
dence 1 Days after, his words came back to her, and stimu- 
lated her to action. 

He talked long, and earnestly, with her. Then throwing 
olf his seriousness, said lightly: “But I did not come to 
‘make straight paths for your feet;’ you must make them 
yourself. I came to rest,” and as he looked on her, he 
added, dreamily, “ such rest as I find only in your pres- 
ence.” He had not meant to say it — he did not wish to 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


215 


say such things to her ; but the words came unbidden and 
he could not deny them utterance. 

To-night she seemed the Eleanor of those paradisiacal 
days when he began to feel all the power of her beauty 
and grace. 

The servant must bring coJSee, and he must take it with 
her. 

Every sorrow and misgiving had fled before his presence. 

She sat opposite to him at the small table, so close that 
he could gaze into the depths of the wondrous eyes, which 
held such mysterious things that he must look and look 
again, and search, and still not satisfy his soul. 

And his, though clear as the heavens, must have held 
an unsatisfying language, for, often, she looked yearningly 
into them as she slowly drank her coffee. 

There was something close and precious to him about 
this simple hour. It seemed a foretaste of what she would, 
God willing, be to him at some future day. Her white 
hands, that now tremblingly handed him his coffee — which 
she had lightly made with sugar and cream for him — those 
beautiful white hands he would some day take in his and 
kiss for the sweet service they would render at such times 
when he would come in weary and worn and have the 
right to claim her wifely attentions. 

Before he parted with her, he said : 

“ Eleanor, will you not come, sometimes, to our place of 
worship?” 

It had always been a great trial to her. But what could 
she not do for him, now? It seemed to her that her very 
life was in his hands, as he stood above her with that tender 
effulgence in his eyes and his melodious voice in her ears. 
He was all — all — to her; why might she not go whither- 
soever he led? No thought of the place, the time, or the 
purpose, only that he had asked it — and he would be there ! 


216 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


Not by words of persuasion from him, but under the spell 
of his power over her, she was led to the Fountain of Life. 

In that simple church, in the midst of those strange, 
weird-looking people, a wonderful thing was unfolded to 
her — even the plan of salvation. And the wonder grew — 
He died for sinners. I am one : did he die for me 9 

Sabbath after Sabbath, week after week, she grew more 
troubled and eager ; troubled that she was so utterly sinful, 
eager to know if there could be mercy for such as she. 

She would have put away the feelings if she could have 
done so, they were so harrowing; but relentless as fate 
they pursued her and drove her back to where she had 
first heard the word of the gospel in its power. Charities 
she dispensed with a liberal hand ; lavish always — she scat- 
tered them everywhere, but it yielded her no balm. The 
abject creatures, the poor, whom she knew she ought to 
feel a tender pity for — she was almost afraid of them ; they 
were so loathsome. She gave them their alms, hurriedly, 
— money, and no words — quickly, that they might get away 
out of her sight. Oh ! would her heart ever melt toward 
them? And she was being taught, she scarcely knew how, 
that He, the Glorious One, the Immaculate, the Eedeemer, 
King, died for such as these. She was even beginning to 
sec herself such as this in His sight (the proud Eleanor 
Ward lowered before the King of Kings!), her life vile, 
her thoughts vile, her resolutions straws before the wind, 
her charities as filthy rags before Him. 

Weeks slid on. Wretched indeed, was she growing, with 
no power to lift herself against it. She had striven to put 
them away — these miserable intruders — why should they 
throng her? But they came and made their abode with 
her. She could not go where the hand beckoned, and she 
fain would have followed. They said to her, Do not; 
death is there!’' 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


217 


Dr. Angelan came so rarely that she sometimes had 
angry, resentful feelings toward him. But these always 
melted in the sun of his presence ; or were turned to a 
closer self-examination and deeper self-abasement as she 
contrasted her life with his, after Margaret or Mrs. Mathers 
had spent a long, lovely day with her. Their talks always 
opened to her more and more of the breadth of this man’s 
usefulness, and the heights and depths of his love for his 
fellow-man. 

One day, Margaret had said : 

“ I want to tell you, Eleanor, that Algernon Hastings 
has recovered.’’ 

A look of horror and dread came into Eleanor Ward’s 
eyes, a trembling seized her limbs. 

Margaret said, quickly: 

‘^He sailed for Europe this morning.” 

Such relief! she breathed a fervent Thank God!” 
whether for the man’s recovery, or for his absence she 
scarcely knew. 

“ 0, Eleanor Ward, to think how I persecuted and 
maligned that grand man, my husband’s friend — Dr. 
Angelan!” Eleanor’s eyes opened wide with astonish- 
ment; she had never heard Margaret speak of it before. 
‘^Horace has just told me what St. John Angelan has done 
for that man, his bitterest enemy.” 

“ I do not understand you. Why is he Dr. Angolan’s 
bitterest enemy?” 

‘‘ I thought you did not know, and I’ve wanted to tell 
you.” 

After a little painful spell of coughing which had got- 
ten to he a habit of Margaret’s lately — though she tried to 
make a light matter of it for Horace’s sake — she fell to 
telling Eleanor of it all. She ran through the scene which 
Dr. Angelan had mentioned to Eleanor, being so minute 


218 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


that a burning flush settled on the eager face. Then she 
told her of the suit; then, the scene between the mother 
and the rejected in the presence of St. John Angelan; 
then, the shooting — and here, Eleanor Ward would have 
asked questions, but her heart was throbbing, almost audi- 
bly, and she could not trust her voice. That was it! and 
they did not tell her. He had bled for her! ecstatic 
thought! Thank God, it was not fatal! At this remote 
hour, and all was well with him, she thanked God it was 
not fatal. 

And then Margaret told her of his after-conduct : the 
days and nights when he had made himself physician and 
nruse to this drink-crazed man, who was almost given over 
by the physicians in charge of the hospital to which he 
was taken; how by his tenderness, and power, and skill, he 
had worn the man’s animosity away, and won him to him- 
self, and cured him. 

He had, before he sailed, sent for Horace, and in a proud 
way, that dignified, even, the despicable little dude, offered 
to refund the money which he had gained in the suit, and 
then Horace had told him who had paid it — not to him, 
but to St. John the money was due. 

And then the man had burst forth, though in a half- 
cynical way, and told him of some of the tender, brotherly 
things St. John Angelan had done for him; and he ended, 
with some feeling : 

“If I believed at all in that rubbish, I would know this 
man to be a follower of the Man Christ Jesus.'’ 

“ 0, the potency of a life like his! I feel it, now” — and 
Margaret breathed a deep and labored respiration, half 
a cough — “ though I shut my ears and blinded my eyes to 
it for years.’’ 

Eleanor could not yet trust her voice ; she was afraid it 
might break out in rapturous praises of him. Her lion! 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


219 


How it came back to her, that shake of the grand shoul- 
ders, and the lightning glance of his eye ! What strength 
there was in the man ! 

And that was what he was doing all those dreary days 
when she was pining and fretting, and wasting the precious 
moments. Would her soul never turn to such things? 

Mrs. Mathers had only a short while to stay with her 
this morning, as she told her, and had to hold her bonnet- 
strings tightly to keep Eleanor’s eager fingers from un- 
tying them. 

She half pouted : 

‘^It is cruel of you never to come to stay with me!’' and 
then almost with a sob, 0, Mrs. Mathers, it seems to me 
your dear heart would tell you how much I need you, 
sometimes. It is such a difficult task — alone, and so 
ignorant!” 

Mrs. Mathers took her to her ample breast, and let her 
lie there while she had one of those storms of tears. After 
awhile the sky cleared, and, as it always was with her after 
these ‘^showers,” the heaven of her nature was divinely 
fair. Her dignity never seemed to leave her when these 
great rains of sorrow and trouble overcame her, but the 
sweet grace of humility seemed to grow under their watering. 

And nov/ she had something to ask Mrs. Mathers — had 
been longing for days to ask her. She remembered some 
words of his, and she wanted to know their meaning. 
Perhaps she might find some work — a work of love in 
them. She longed so to be doing something, with some 
talent with which the Lord had endowed her. Her life 
seemed to be so idle and sensually sinful. 

“ Mrs. Mathers, Dr. Angelan once said, when I had read 
to him — perhaps you remember the day” — her eyes wavered 
a little and a faint aurora fiush trembled on her face — 
that God had given me a great power. And I have read 


220 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


— and I know lie thinks — we should not bury our talent. 
What could I possibly do with this one — this talent of 
reading well — of reading so much better than other persons 
who have had the same opportunities, that I am convinced 
it is a talent?’' She was speaking, seriously, and her eyes 
were in the matron’s with an appealing look. Tell me, 
what can I do with it?” 

There was something so benign in Mrs. Mathers’ face 
when she explained such things to Eleanor that the in- 
fluence touched home at once. 

“ Is nourishing food good for the weak stomach? Do 
we make delicate, tempting dishes with which to feed the 
sick? Do we give them cooling drinks? Do we apply the 
soothing ointment? Do we bathe the aching head? Do 
we watch beside the couch? Do we lead about the blind? 
Almost as great a boon, it seems to me, would be this 
‘talent’ of yours, my dear one.” 

Eleanor was beginning to see. What a heavenly thing 
is charity! Her eyes radiated an inward joy as Mrs. 
Mathers, kindling, asked: 

“ Would you not like to be sight for the blind — to give 
wings to the weary hours of the suffering — to make melody 
in the dull and lonely room of the afflicted — to open vistas 
of delight for those who are shut away from all things 
that are beautiful in this life? Eleanor, there are paths 
in every direction : go into them, and by the wayside you 
will And places to sit and read in, where your soul will be 
lifted while you lift the soul of others.” 

And that was what she could do with it ! It seemed to 
her a sweet and lovely thing. Poor young enthusiast! 
She had not yet faced it, and she had not the grace of God 
reigning in her heart to make her feel the beauty of holi- 
ness, in places of disease and suffering. 

That was what he had meant. She remembered vaguely. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


221 


now, that in her rebellious moods when she had thought 
of asking him what she could do with this talent, it was 
not that she was anxious to do right with it, but the desire 
to know what might seem right to those straight-laced (in 
her bitter moods she always called them so) followers of 
Christ. 

“ 0, how sweet and strong is the love of man that is 
always devising some good to man.’* This was in her 
heart, making melody. 


CHAPTEE XVI. 


T he planning of Christie’s house had given her a 
great happiness. 

And now it was done — a miniature place, but a 
thing of beauty. 

The little hunchback plied her needle, and netlike 
meshes, sprayed with a tracery of frostwork, grew under 
her dainty and diligent fingers ; and the taste as delicate 
and exquisite revelled in the beautiful surroundings. Poor, 
homely, misshapen thing; she had to shake herself, and 
pinch herself, at times, to see if it were not all a dream. 
The dainty clothes, the flowers and fountains, the grace 
of form and color wherever the eye might rove — luxuries 
for the body and soul — mercies without number! And 
thanksgiving went up daily from a full heart. 

Doubtless, she had made “ one creature happy, that had 
come by such devious ways.’' 

And here she could learn of St. John Angelan, too, for 
Christie, while her deft little fingers wove in the creamy 
meshes, their wonder of leaves and flowers, had always 
something to relate. 

A year had passed, and now the old life with all its 
power of temptation was surging back on her again. 

Her year of mourning was over — or so the fashionable 
fiat ran. 

Books, with all their bewildering sophistry of reasoning; 
pamphlets, with all their allurement of advertisement for 
theatres, operas, etc., etc. ; invitations to teas, dinners, 
222 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


223 


balls, weddings, receptions; elegantly dressed callers with 
their elaborately assumed blandishments — all, back on her 
again, in a tide. Was she on a rock, or did only the sand 
hold her trembling feet? 

Her soul would reach out in unutterable longing for the 
grasp of the hand which had been the only one to lift her 
above these things. She had yet to learn the power in the 
hand — even the power of God in the instrument. 

She would say, desperately, to herself, that she must get 
away from these maddening thoughts. It might be that 
this was imagination ; perhaps the world was not all vanity ! 
She must go out into it again, and try herself. Surely 
she could worship God, and enjoy the pleasures, too, of 
this beautiful world. 

She will take Reggie to the theatre ; he has been begging 
her for weeks. 

The place seems strange and awful to her. So many 
things have happened since she last stood in the blaze of 
such lights. 

She wonders why the gaud and the glare strike so pain- 
fully upon her senses — wonders why she feels a hesitancy, 
and sense of flight, instead of the old thrill of exultation 
with which she had, in those other nights which seemed 
so far back, entered her luxurious box. 

She is alone to-night, by choice; and she feels as if a 
pitiless storm is pelting her when she knows by eyes, and 
glasses, and whisperings, and bowings, that they are aware 
of her presence. She can even hear such murmurs, as — 
Beautiful as ever !” “ Enchanting !’* 

Severely simple as is the make of her dress, her head 
rises up out of the rich, dark velvet, high at the throat, 
like a rare flower out of some unique vase. 

And Eleanor Ward begins to feel her pulses throb and 
her cheeks flame, as the languorous strains of music, now 


234 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


faint and sweet ; then, throbbing and swelling; again, al- 
most dying away, and then rising gently, sweep great chords 
of melody in grand undertones into the soft radiance about 
her. 

The place seems so vast to her — a confused, dizzy feeling 
oppresses her ; things swim in a kind of rainbow light. 
She fears she is going to faint. 

A reverent, holy feeling forced the prayer, “ Lord, de- 
liver me from evil!” It even moved on her lips, but it 
made no sound. 

Her senses became clear, again. 

All about her, diamonds were blazing, rubies burning, 
and pearls shimmering with opaline splendor; satins 
shining; feathers waving; white arms gleaming; white 
bosoms heaving; jewelled fans swaying; and handsome 
faces beaming. 

She looks about her, and shudders, as in the light of the 
Book she sees all of these beautiful beings in their naked 
deformity before their Lord and Master. A year ago 
she would simply have had for them a shrug of contempt ; 
but now she saw them as they were, and she felt a great 
fear seize her. Women — commanded to be chaste, keepers 
at home, lovers of their own husbands” — half nude, arms 
and bosoms bare, exposed to the eye that holds a baleful 
light. Wives, with young babes at home, perhaps — “ truce 
breakers” — looking loye back into eyes of husbands, as 
recreant as themselves to their marital vows. 

She feels that she must get up, and flee from the place. 

But the music dies away, and the curtain rises. Things 
seem to hold her, again. 

She wonders why she cannot imagine, or at least give 
herself away to the idea, that the painted, bedizened crea- 
tures on the stage are real, and lose herself as of yore, in 
the tragedy that is holding the hundreds of human beings 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


225 


almost breathless. She is looking within herself, and her 
mind is on that most wonderful tragedy that has ever been 
enacted on this earth — the tragedy of the cross. She 
wonders — and she is laboring so with the thought — she 
wonders how many in this vast assemblage have part and 
lot in the victory of that tragedy. 

In the intensity of the thought, she longed to warn 
them to flee from the wrath to come — flee, to the foot of 
the cross. 

Some kind of smothered sound must have escaped her, 
for the child cried out: 

Lonna, don’t ! Lonna, don’t loot so ! They will tate oo 
f’om me, adain!’' 

She was smiling and soothing him in a moment. But 
before it was over she was leading Eeggie, hurriedly, out 
of the magnificent temple of Sin. 

Dr. Angelan had not been there for weeks, such had 
been the suffering and consequent demands upon his time 
at the asylum and throughout the borders of his work. 

She knew that this was what kept him from her, and 
yet, as usual, she rebelled, and the ugly thought, hydra- 
headed, reared itself in her young bosom. — Could God be 
love? Love is kind. This sacrifice of every delightful 
human feeling — why does He demand it? Is happiness 
torture of one’s self? Is religion a continual hunger and 
thirst, with nothing to feed upon, nothing to drink? Her 
thoughts were very bitter. To-night she had tested the 
world again — one phase of it — and found in it nothing to 
satisfy her soul, nothing to soothe the longing and unrest. 

The next morning Dr. Angelan came, but she was out, 
and she was bitterly disappointed that she had not seen 
him. He came so seldom, and the time would be so long. 
That place — she was beginning to feel almost like Mar- 
garet Swayne had felt about it. 

15 


226 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


She questioned Eeggie, closely, as to how he had looked 
and what he had said. 

“ He tissed my hair an’ my eyes, an’ his eyes loot 
sorwy when I told him we were to de featre, an’ he say 
— an’ he say” — Reggie was watching a beautiful gold-fish 
as it darted in a ray of sunshine, then swirled and let itself 
down among the mosses and coral of its bower in the large 
globe under the tall ferns. 

“And he said what, my dear?” Her voice almost had 
tears in it. 

“ An’ he say” — the fish had come out again, but Eleanor 
turned the little boy’s face around to her with both her 
hands, in a fashion she had when she wanted his atten- 
tion. He loved the touch of her hand, so he answered, 
smiling up in her face : 

“He say, ‘I hope, my boy, oo will not det fond of such 
fings, ’ an’ I say, ‘I love ’em alweady ; dey’s des jolly. ’ ” Then 
with a serious elongation of features, he added: “An’ he 
put me down, wight twick, an’ go wight away. Lonna, is 
we done anyfing bad?” 

She caught him passionately to her breast. With his 
clear orbs searching her face, and his sole dependence 
upon her for guidance and training, thrusting itself upon 
her just then, a sentence came to her with great force of 
meaning : 

“ Train up a child in the way he should go, and when 
he is old he will not depart from it.” 

Her responsibility for Eeggie, her responsibility for 
herself, the reaching after she knew not what, but which 
seemed to her to be rest, almost made her desperate. 

In the evening, St. John came again. 

He was taken into the beautiful apartment, which in the 
severity of its adornments reminded him somewhat of her 
room at the asylum. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


227 


But the richness and elegance of everything in it were 
in keeping with the other surroundings of Eleanor Ward. 
The faint, sweet odor of violets pervaded the atmosphere. 

The candelabra, branching high up on the mantel, gave 
a soft glow from its wax-lights; and a bright fire burned 
on the hearth. 

Eeggie and his dog had fallen asleep on a rich rug in 
the firelight, and Eleanor Ward was sitting by a small 
table. A wax-light, in a single candelabrum with glitter- 
ing pendants, brought into clear relief the face that but a 
moment before was bent in troubled search over the book 
on the table beside her, but now lifted and revealed to him 
in joyous welcome. Her dress was dark and rich, and 
caught the fireglow in ruby coloring as it lay along the 
fioor. Her superb proportions were outlined against the 
rich white upholstery of the chair in which she sat. Her 
arms were bare from the elbow, and sculptured marble 
seemed not fairer or of finer mould than the hand and arm 
below. One or . two rich bracelets and rare rings adorned 
them, and a magnificent diamond blazed in the laces on 
the heaving breast. 

Miss Ward had been dining out. 

‘‘Dr. Angelan, you look ill,’' she cried, in alarm. He 
sat down opposite to her ; his face white ; his eyes burning 
— their intensity full upon her. 

“ My soul is troubled within me, dearest friend.” 

The words and the tones thrilled her with an exquisite 
pain. 

They searched each other’s eyes, the woman’s scarcely 
less troubled than the man’s. Then he said: 

“Eleanor, read me the forty-third Psalm.” 

Her eyes fell on the book before her. Strange coinci- 
dence — there it was! She had, but a moment before, been 
searching — searching it, eagerly, for the promise. Ah, 


238 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


well she knew it. It had more than once answered to her 
soul’s longings when with direful earnestness she had 
been searching — reaching after something in those trou- 
blous days, and far into the nights. 

The man’s face began to shine even before her voice fell 
on his ear. He was, inly, saying : 

“ All the pomp of dress, and power of fashion and old 
habits, have not overcome her ! Thank God, it was His holy 
Book she was reading.’* 

Something came back and overshadowed her. Her 
sweet lip drooped, her great shadowy eyes were humid, 
and her voice — than which there was nothing on earth 
sweeter to him — trembled. 

He leaned forward, and almost with bated breath, drank 
in every word as it dropped from her lips. And as she 
read it bravely through, she, too, drank in every word in all 
its power and pathos. As she ended, he breathed a deep 
respiration. 

Her heart thrilled again with that exquisite pain with 
which, of late, words and tones and looks of his had made 
it ache. 

All trouble was gone from his face. He lifted his 
head, and shaking his shoulders grandly, asked with 
kindling eyes: 

“Could there be any other comparison? ‘As the hart 
panteth after the water brooks’ — that wild, thirsty longing 
of the soul after God.” 

“ Dr. Angelan,” she cried, almost with angry vehemence, 
“can you talk of nothing else? It tortures me — all this 
reading and thinking and hearing! Please,” she added, 
gently, and almost humbly, “talk of something else.” 

He took his eyes slowly from her face. A little while 
he sat, silently looking at the picture on the floor. The 
huge white dog making a pillow for the boy’s golden 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


229 


head, the animal’s fine muzzle resting on his fore-paws; 
the breathing of the two, making the only sound in the 
room. 

Looking on her, again, with a mystical gaze, he asked: 

Eleanor, did you find happiness at the theatre?” 

“That is but the same thing,” desperately, “Shall I 
never, never find rest from it?” 

He rose, saying in sweetly solemn tones : 

“ 0 that you may find the haven!” 

She fell to weeping as if her heart would break. He 
knew it was one of those great rains that always left her 
soul fresher ; and he could only stand silently by and pray 
for her. 

After a while she felt the touch of his hand upon her 
head, and the words, 

“Good-night and God bless you!” were a benediction. 

He did not stay away long; he could not stay away long. 
Something seemed urging him that way. 

Immediately, she began asking him: 

“ Dr. Angelan, what have I done that I should feel so 
guilty — so condemned? I have killed no one, I have de- 
frauded no one, I have lied to no one!” Her tones were 
full of injured innocence and accusations of injustice. 
“ Night and day I am haunted by the idea, forced upon 
me,” with angry vehemence, “that I am a criminal — a 
horribly guilty criminal before a just and holy judge.” 

The effulgence of his whole countenance was too much 
for her. Her mood changed ; she implored : 

“ Tell me, truest of friends, why is this?” 

He answered, melodiously : 

“ For the first time in your life, Eleanor, you see your- 
self as you really are before God. A fallen, undone crea- 
ture before a perfect God. His light has shined into your 
heart and you see all that is there by nature; and but for 


230 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


His restraining grace you would do all — and more — of the 
hideous things you have just enumerated.’' 

She looked at him as one in a dream, not yet compre- 
hending, and she said, bitterly, only wanting rest from this 
ceaseless strain : 

But the other was so much better. I feared nothing, 
then — now, I tremble at everything.” 

His bowels yearned over her! Poor, heavy-laden one, 
struggling under the law, laboring under the law, and no 
Christ ! 

He said, gently, his eyes still shedding their mild efful- 
gence upon her : 

‘^Eleanor, if you were standing upon the brink of a 
yawning abyss” — he paused as if for words, and then went 
on, slowly — “ even that which is described in the Eevelation 
of John, ‘the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone,’ 
would it not be safer for you to know it? Would you 
not turn and flee for refuge? The way is open. Christ is 
able to save to the uttermost all that come unto Him!” 

His voice was so silver clear, it took her back to that day 
on which his faith had wrought such a change in her. 
She felt, now, that she would rather be back into that than 
to be laboring in all the mental agony she had been under- 
going for days — no peace, no rest, no hope. 

“ Proceed no farther. Turn to Christ — I think that is 
what He means for you to do.” 

His words penetrated her soul, but she rebelled still. 
Proceed no farther! renounce the world! She did not 
wish to give it up, it had all seemed so beautiful to her, 
and satisfying, and was still beckoning and alluring her 
on. But the abyss — the “lake of fire” — should she plunge 
into that? “Turn to Christ!” — give up everything — all 
that beautiful, luxurious life, for a revolting, and urgent 
and endless routine of duties to others who do not even 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


231 


care, or know, where the sacrifice comes from, nor what 
it is. Thrown continually with things that harrow the 
feelings; and laying on the altar every desire, every senti- 
ment that conflicts with the teaching which seems so im- 
possible of obedience — and after all, not to find happiness! 
She was sure St. John Angelan, who lived up to all these 
things, was not a happy man. 

Here her thoughts found utterance : 

“Dr. Angelan, are you a happy man?" 

“ Do I look very wretched?" he asked as one of his rare 
smiles clove the red under lip from its fellow under the 
incurling, boyish mustache. 

She looked adoringly in his face as she answered, almost 
under her breath, 

“It is peace;" then after a deep indrawn breath she re- 
peated, “ It is peace." 

“That is it, Eleanor," a smile still hovering about his 
face; “undisturbed happiness is not for mortals, but ‘the 
peace that passeth all understanding’ — that is given. 
Peace and security." 

And now, indeed, he had mentioned that which seemed 
to her so desirable, desirable above all things, peace and 
security. Would that blessedness ever be hers, again? 
Again? Had she ever possessed them? She was dimly 
conscious that the sleep of death had been hers. 

“Proceed no farther." The warning words were full of 
terror to her. Peace and security— ah, pitying God, send 
them ! 

Day after day, night after night, she prayed — prayed 
for this rest to her soul. 


CHAPTEE XVII. 


A nd now, indeed, the vital force, religion, seemed 
moving her. 

She began to take heed to her ways; to take 
heed to her tongue ; to take heed to Keggie. 

She turned from the hand that was beckoning, luring 
her hack; turned, steadfastly, into paths untrodden by her 
before — into fields full, full, and ‘‘laborers few.” There 
was so much to do on this sorrow-encumbered earth, 
might she not be a toiler, too? 

Her ardor soon pointed her out a way. 

She gathered together a class of bright young girls, 
daughters of indigent widows with families to support; 
and she rejoiced in the thought of how she might open 
things to them. Her religious fervor brooked no such 
thing as failure. She would give herself — this being of 
hers, body and soul — to the work. God willing, she would 
do something for her fellow-being. 

She had a simple, but perfectly appointed, studio fitted 
up in her own splendid home. 

Surreptitiously, she did all this. She trembled at the 
thought of his knowing it — a blending of humility and 
shame. She did not want any one but the recipients of her 
favor to know it ; it might seem like vauuting herself — 
the vaunting of a charity that she did not really possess. 

She had a simple dress, their uniform, made for every 
one of the twenty girls in which to appear at their work ; 
this she did as a charity, to obviate the necessity of outlay 

232 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


233 


for the mothers ; and she had one of the same material 
and style for herself. Her girls should not covet costly 
array because their teacher appeared daily in their presence 
sumptuously attired. No, she wished to keep that down 
in them, it had beset her so, and it was possible for her 
to indulge in it without so great sin; they could in no 
wise afford it, and it might lead into something grievous 
— the longing to gratify it. 

She herself was to teach them the art of painting. And 
a teacher of music, a square or two from Miss Ward’s door 
who had been struggling with ill-health and half a dozen 
little children, almost in poverty, was, in her own home, to 
instruct these young girls in music, that they might go 
forth with the two arts, and make a competence for them- 
selves and help their widowed mothers. 

Miss Ward did not allow this lapse of time to pass to 
these families in the struggles and trials of gnawing pov- 
erty. She emptied her charities daily at their doors. 
Not in person — ah, no; Eleanor Ward’s alms were not of 
the Pharisaic kind, now. The recipients themselves did 
not know from whence their bounties came. 

And she had instituted another sweet charity, a support 
for Christie ; a memorial to the Lord for that day when 
she first felt her heart go out to a poor, deformed, shabby- 
looking creature. She knew Christie would love to feel as 
if she were earning her daily bread and have plenty to 
give to others. So she sent to her, of her own generous 
bounty, twenty other indigent maidens to learn of Christie, 
lace-making — this exquisite art to make for them a living 
in the future. And she knew she was stretching her hand 
still lower, for Christie helped so many, poorer and more 
helpless than herself. 

And Christie’s brother, who was warden of the church 
at the Nazarene — the little hunchback so like his sister 


234 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


— she commissioned him to hunt up a class of thirty relia- 
ble, sturdy boys, and educate them in telegraphy, of which 
he was a master, having served long and faithfully, until 
the confinement had proved too much for his never strong 
frame. And she herself would pay him munificently. 
And she knew this was but another hand to' reach lower 
to suffering humanity. For Christie’s brother was one of 
the followers of the Man who went about doing good. 
And now, indeed, at times she seemed to live and move 
and have her being. Do and live — was this it? Unrest! 
unrest ! 

Peace and security ! Oh, how should she ever get that 
blessedness 1 

Eleanor had certain days for her girls. The alternate 
ones, they went to an instructress who had a blind father 
dependent upon her, and whom she was unable to leave 
for any other employment. 

It was wonderful to Eleanor what eyes, that have been 
opened, can see. She had been blind to all this right in 
her pathway, and she had had to make very little exertion 
to find any of it. It was as dear Mrs. Mathers had said: 

It will meet you on every hand, this work of the true dis- 
ciple of the Compassionate One.’’ Oh! was she a disciple 
of His — a true disciple? Would she ever be a disciple 
like St. John Angelan, like Mrs. Mathers, or even like 
impulsive, disobedient Horace Swayne? The trembling 
joy at her heart reassured her, and she went about her self- 
imposed task with the same sweet zeal that had character- 
ized her, and set her apart as something above mortal to 
the young things partaking so richly of her graciousness. 

Sometimes as she paints, she talks, and her tongue has 
with its sweetness of sound a power of language, simple as 
the words are which she uses, that rouses in them tender 
and high aspirations ; rouses in them resolutions of patience, 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


235 


and perseverance, and truthfulness, and faithfulness; and 
longings after, and reverence for holy things. 

There was not one, even the boldest of them, that 
would have dared to transcend her rules; their awe and 
reverence would have forbidden ; and there was not one, 
even the most awkward and unlearned, but looked to her 
in adoring confidence to relieve them of their embarrass- 
ment, or alarm, at not having done the right thing. 

She smoothed out everything for them, and she made 
everything seem possible to them — everything that was 
good and grand. Not with any false idea; no, she had 
suffered so intensely in the undoing of what had been done 
in the arrogance of false training. She told them their 
ambition must not be for this world, alone — there was 
something higher, better, which she was not able to ex- 
plain to them, but which they would in time themselves 
learn, she hoped. > 

She so impressed it upon them, their duty as children 
to honor their parents, and as creatures of God to honor 
the Giver of all blessings, that the teaching seemed a part 
and parcel of her; and her influence extended into their 
homes. The '^idowed mothers felt it, and the orphaned 
little ones, brothers and sisters, blossomed into better 
conduct under its genial rays. 

She and Dr. Angelan laughed, heartily, at the manner in 
which Eeggie disclosed her secret. 

Eeggie was sitting in a high chair swinging his feet, im- 
patiently, and looking with longing eyes at the playthings 
scattered about on the floor. 

“Why don’t you get down, Eeggie, and play?’' 

The child’s eyes flew up in glad surprise, then fell lugu- 
briously; and he began playing with his fingers in a 
shamefaced way. 

“ ’Tause Lonna put me here an’ say I must not, till she 


236 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


tomes back/' There was bravery, and staunchness too, in 
the confession. 

Dr. Angolan put his hand under the little quivering 
chin, and lifted the face to his. 

“That is right, my little man — be honest, be obedient.” 
So like Eleanor, clear as the day! “We will see what can 
be done when Eleanor comes.” 

And when she came in, radiant — as she always did of late 
— to meet him, he, interceding, said : 

“Let this little captive out. Is not his punishment 
over?” 

St. John Angolan’s presence! What needed it more to 
make the little miscreant’s pardon full and free? 

But the hour which he had spent there must have be- 
gotten in Eeggie’s breast a sympathy for what he imagined 
to be fellow-suffering. 

He jumped down from his chair, and looking to Dr. 
Angelan as if he expected to find in him a liberator for 
them also, he said : 

“Eleanor’s dot ’em, there — whole lots of ’em, an’ she 
teeps ’em there nearly all the day.” 

He was laughing, softly, as he looked into her startled, 
almost tearful eyes. 

He said, tenderly: 

“ And did you think you could keep me from knowing 
it? Is there anything that I do not know of you, Eleanor 
Ward?” 

And, indeed, it seemed to her that there was not. 

“But there is one thing you do not know,” she said to 
hide her embarrassment, and then continued, joyously: “ I 
have found Kitty, and as she will not go back to the 
asylum — she is afraid of Teddy, I believe — I am going to 
keep her.” 

But she did not tell him that the poor, pretty thing 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


237 


and her babe, a little beauty, had been deserted by Alonza, 
the gay Lothario, equipped and gorgeous on somebody’s 
stylish turnout ; and she had found her, through Christie, 
almost in a starving condition, never having recovered her 
strength until Eleanor brought her home. 

When it got abroad, as such things usually do — especially, 
of any one occupying the position Eleanor Ward did, 
though she had studiously avoided any publicity in her 
charities — committees from notable bodies in the city waited 
upon her and solicited her membership. They urged the 
highest, most honorable positions upon her; but she 
gently and graciously refused. She gave to them bounti- 
fully ; and is willing to give for any future demand that 
seems to her, right; this, she promises them, with her 
angelic smile, but does not care for the honors and dis- 
tinctions, and would shun the notoriety. Only restricts 
them in one thing — that they will not mention her name 
in connection with her donations. 

Some of her mother’s old friends came, and urged it 
upon her to be baptized into the church. But it seemed 
to her now, in the simplicity of her faith and the strict- 
ness of its requirements, that the ceremony of baptism as 
she had always witnessed it, was but the performance of an 
ideal scene, not the following of the example. The cere- 
mony as she had always witnessed it- — the in-door rite, the 
courtly elegance of dress, the meagre supply of the cleansing 
emblem, water — seemed to her now, in strange contrast to 
the scene, unique, and standing out vividly in word-paint- 
ing, denominated “baptism’' in the Word of Truth — the 
heavens wide and deep above, the “much water,” Jordan’s 
stream, and the simply clad figure coming “up straightway 
out of ” its depths. 

She spoke fervently and pointedly, and they went away 
much moved, for in their hearts they knew she was right. 


238 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


But they treated it as a light thing that any one would 
make such a point, the times were so different — every- 
thing was so different ! 

Who would have ever dreamed that Eleanor Ward would 
take such a position? There surely must be some linger- 
ing traces of insanity lurking in her fine mind — this 
fanaticism was evidence of that. 

And, now, the Christmas time had come. The first 
sound of the glad chimes seemed to her like the song of the 
angels to the shepherds on the hills of Judea. Prom her 
heart, the anthem went up, “ Peace on earth, good will 
toward men.'' 

And this divine feeling went out in loving generosity 
toward her fellow-man. She dispensed charities with a 
prodigality that was almost royal. Her soul was overflow- 
ing with that love which makes common ownership of all 
things we possess, that feeling of brotherhood which seeks 
not our own, but another’s wealth." 

A psalm was running in her heart: “It is my heavenly 
Father’s; He only lends it to me. Shall I not divide it 
with His other creatures? Shall I not ‘remember the 
poor,’ whom He so continually commends to my notice?" 

She wonders to herself if this indeed, can be she — if this 
can be Eleanor Ward, the pampered belle of so short a 
while ago, now so indifferent to the pomp and splendor 
and gayeties that are making it such a brilliant season for 
her world, and so alive to the wants and needs that are 
pinching those who but a short time since were objects of 
such loathing to her. 

But her heart did not go out to them yet, even yet, as 
individuals whose lives were such that she would sacrifice 
much to lift them, better them; no, her heart did not yet 
go with her hand ; she had yet to experience the fulness 
of brotherly love — Christian charity. But her soul rose 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


239 


in triumph over the petty daintiness which forbade a 
bond of fellowship, and rejoiced in the ‘'glad tidings” 
which had that day come to her soul. “ Peace on 
earth, good will toward men.” She rejoiced that it was 
hers to give — no longer a duty only, but now a glad priv- 
ilege. 

In the evening St. John Angelan came. 

The parlors were lit and many of her friends were there 
for a social, unostentatious dining. Horace and Margaret 
— the children for Peggie’s Christmas tree — and other 
friends who had felt the influence of this beautiful young 
woman’s higher life and longed for her companionship; 
and others, suitors in dignified, honorable stations in life 
who admired this woman for what she really was; and 
old ladies and gentlemen who had ceased to care for the 
vanities and follies and were living beautiful lives m the 
world, but not of it. 

With this assemblage St. John dined in such state for 
the first time in many long but nobly spent years. 

It was a trial to him. None of that assemblage could 
imagine the sorrowful memories that surged back on him 
as he sat at that glittering board. 

Mrs. Mathers, whom he had just seated, whispered : 

''For Eleanor’s sake, St. John.” 

And with the flash which, instantaneously, illumined his 
face as he glanced at his hostess, St. John Angolan’s soul 
cleared ; and his presence was felt — nay, in that handsome 
dining-hall he shone pre-eminent. 

As he had made the poor creatures rejoice in his pres- 
ence that morning when Eleanor Ward had made a feast 
and bidden them, so he now made these dignified and 
elegant people rejoice in his presence. His glance was 
light, and his tongue was silver. 

They were talking about the tendency of the times — the 


240 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


arrogance and daring of even the professing Christian to 
reject portions of the Scriptures. 

There were some present who had been led to doubt some 
parts of the King James translation. Might they not be 
defective? Might there not be mistakes in translation? 

St. John Angolan answered, fearlessly, but gently and 
solemnly : 

The man is either crazed, or he ‘hath a devil’ who will 
care to prove any part of that Book defective in truth, or 
anything in it impossible with the great Creator of the 
universe. If I did not believe every sentence of the King 
James translation (I have based my hopes upon the Truth 
as revealed, there), I should not rely upon it at all. Eob 
one sentence of its infallibility, and you undermine the 
whole strength upon which the book is based.’' His eye 
kindled. “ It is to mo the word of Truth. And I have 
faith to believe it was handed down to us through the 
ages, 2^'^eservecl by the Lord Almighty, by whose inspira- 
tion it was written, and in whose power, and guided by 
His divine instruction, intelligent men have translated, and 
transmitted it to us. This,” he added, with a pitying 
concern in his voice — pity for those who could scoff at 
such things, “may be scoffed at by some as ignorance, and 
the blindness of faith — but” — his voice was deep and rev- 
erent — “ I thank God I possess this faith. Why should I 
want my confidence in any part of it disturbed?” His 
bosom expanded, his shoulders lifted themselves, his eye 
glanced lightning — Eleanor Ward’s eyes radiated a kin- 
dling sympathy. “When I read I simply believe, and 
wonder, and adore — oh, this King of Kings, this mighty 
Potentate, this Lord of Lords !” After a few moments, with 
sudden righteous indignation : “ Why should I spend the 
time searching what is unsearchable, fathoming what is 
unfathomable? Eather let me be about the work He has 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


241 


SO plainly laid out for those who would honor and glorify 
Him! Let the caviller cease tracking the ‘mind of the 
Lord’ and turn to, and do the things he is commanded to 
do in the Book which was given to us for instruction in 
righteousness! Let him turn his eyes to earth, which is 
so full of toil and sin” — his voice rolled with a melody 
that touched almost to tears those whose hearts were ten- 
der — “and let him give his strength to help^ instead of 
gazing among the stars — lest he fall into the pit whose 
bottom is destruction.” 

In his voice there was such an awfulness of meaning that 
the moisture which had threatened fell in drops. And, 
God be praised, the tender ones were not ashamed of those 
tears, but they rejoiced in the boldness of this man. 

Some timid, doubting Thomas ventured, hesitatingly : 

“But the miracles — it seems so impossible that those 
simple measures should bring about such wonderful re- 
sults.” 

Dr. Angelan turned, gently, and one of his rare smiles 
parted the red under lip from its mate. He said, simply: 

“It was faith.” 

“But why can those things not be done, now? There 
are men of faith all over the land.” 

He smiled again, benignly: 

“We are told,” he answered, ^^if ye have faith as a 
grain of mustard seed you might say unto a mountain, be 
thou removed hence, and it would be done.” 

“ But that was meant only for those times.” The timid 
gentleman brought forth the argument, almost trium- 
phantly. 

“ Why for those times, only?” St. John answered, argu- 
ing gently, but with a firmness in his eyes and demeanor 
that was dauntless. “ If other things in the same connec- 
tion — which we believe — have reference to us latter day 
16 


242 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


disciples, why not everything? How can we decide which 
is meant as referring to ns? Can we take one part of the 
Holy Scriptures and apply it to suit ourselves, and leave 
the other part alone?” 

You don’t mean to say,” the doubting Thomas asked, 
his incredulity getting the better of his timidity, “ that 
you believe if one has faith in that infinitesimal quantity, 
he could now, in this day, work a miracle?” 

Horace Swayne’s eyes were glistening; he looked as if 
he longed to speak. Eleanor Ward was trying not to lose 
her presence of mind as hostess, and her face was like the 
dawn. Some at the table laughed, softly; but St. John 
Angelan answered, while his whole manner grow divinely 
benignant, 

“ I believe the word of God. It tells His disciples — former 
day, latter day — that if they have faith as a grain of mus- 
tard seed, they possess a miracle-working power. What 
is to be adduced so as not to be guilty of the blasphemy 
of denying the word of God? That we of this day and 
generation do not possess faith — even in so small a degree 
— or, that we have faith and have the power to accomplish 
miracles?” His eyes had become luminous; suddenly lift- 
ing himself again, he said resoundingly, 

‘‘ 0, yes, we have faith, but the trouble is in our unbe- 
lief in the power to accomplish the results through the 
simple means prescribed for us. The trouble lies in the 
‘saying ,’^ — Instead of saying to the mountain, ‘ be 

thou removed,’ our latter day disciples will go about re- 
moving it with main force, in the strength of their own 
might, in a way that seemeth reasonable and expedient to 
them ; while the former day faith followed implicitly the 
Lord’s commands. Think you to find such captains now 
as would follow the voice of an invisible, incomprehensible 
Commander as He who dictated the manner in which the 
walls of Jherico should fall? Ah, no; because of our ‘un- 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


243 


belief,’ the words rang out sharply, accusingly — but there 
was a bitter pain in them which cut like a keen blade, 
“some would be searching, straining, to find where the 
voice was from, and why it should command a thing so 
inadequate to the emergency; others would be scoffing at 
the absurdity of the means proposed; whilst others, wise 
above the wisdom that cometh from above, would be de- 
vising some grand scheme, befitting the magnitude of the 
enterprise. Because of our ‘unbelief ’ we are not ready to 
take hold of that which seems impossible to our human 
reasoning. Oh, that we could simply believe in the power 
of the Most High God and obey His word ! Then would 
miracles be wrought in this day and generation. If every 
Christian would put away unbelief from his heart, and 
walk in the commands of the gospel, there would follow 
this obedience, all over the land, signs and wonders — aye, 
miracles!” 

He seemed to have touched a chord that roused almost 
a holy enthusiasm. Back in the parlors they entered into 
his theme, or hung upon his tongue with a zeal, that made 
Eleanor Ward tremble with bliss. 

Her guests had all left, she stood before the dying em- 
bers on the wide hearth, in her home room — her living 
room — to her, so dear, because so like the one in which she 
had first began to learn the way of Life. The soft lights 
in the candelabra branching high up above her head on 
the unique, Parisian marble mantel, shed a soft glow on 
the face, womanly sweet, but almost saintly pure, in some 
new found happiness. 

One hand lay upon her bosom as if to press something 
close, close against her heart. 

Her cup seemed full. It might even be possible that 
the barrier would be removed. Or was it her exaltation 
of spirit which had placed her on a level with him — this 
blessed Christmas time? 


244 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


He had just parted with her in this, her white room — 
to which he had wandered as the guests were taking their 
leave. 

He had said to her as he parted with her, 

‘^Eleanor, I have a little Christmas gift for you. Will 
you wear it for my sake?” 

And for answer she had reached out her hand for the 
tiny package. 

When he was gone — with the glow of his eyes still upon 
her, and the melody of his voice still in her ears, she 
opened the simple yet rich case, and found a fragile, but 
exquisitely wrought chain, with a small locket attached — 
for its design on the back the rare trinket had a bunch of 
perfect violets in amethyst and pearls. And when she had 
touched the spring, one side disclosed a small but perfect 
likeness of St. John Angolan; and on the other flashed the 
tracery, “Mizpah,” in tiny diamonds. 

She had gazed long and earnestly — almost adoringly at 
it, her hands trembling. She had pressed it to her bosom ; 
she had pressed it to her lips, half uttering a glad thanks- 
giving. Then she had clasped the chain about her neck, 
and the violets were lost in the ermine which was scarcely 
more white than the breast against which it lay. 

Outside the wind blew, and she knew it was bitter cold 
— and that the snow was falling. How her heart went out 
to the poor half starved creatures in the poverty stricken 
quarters of the city ! Oh ! that she could clothe and feed 
them and lift them to a higher scale of moral living! It 
was so terrible what she had learned of them, in the short 
while her heart had been enlisted in their cause. 

With a sigh from her soul for their wretchedness — a 
great swelling of gratitude rose in her heart that He had 
so blest her — thank God ! for this blessed, beautiful “ Christ- 
mas time” ! 


CHAPTEE XVIII. 


S CAECELY two years, and the simple inscription was 
on another stately headstone, and another woman 
of fashion” had had ‘Hhis strange thing to happen 
to her.” 

Margaret Swayne never fully recovered her strength 
after her wild grief over her babe. Her strength of will 
seemed to have been broken, and with it her spirit. 

Now she and her newly born infant were laid quietly 
away. She had begged that there might be no ostentation 
— the mere thought of show and pomp had always sickened 
her soul, since that night. 

For the little girls, she had asked that they might be as 
much as possible under Eleanor Ward’s influence. 

Horace, to get away from haunting memories, and bitter 
remorse, and sickening self-accusations — futile, now, when 
no reparation can ever be made — 0, that Margaret could 
know them ! Too late ! too late ! In vain to think of her 
in her glorified state — he wanted her here^ that he might 
pour out to her all of his deep contrition for his mad im- 
patience of tongue, and his self-righteous unbending of 
will. — What had he been, what had he ever done, that he 
should have felt himself at such times so far superior to 
her in his allegiance to his Lord and Master? Oh! if he 
had only been pitiful, and tender, and merciful, when she 
was wayward! it might not have been — she might have 
listened — and then these torturing scenes could not now 
rise up to accuse and undo him. Even the great, wonder- 

245 


246 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


ing eyes of their little children now came back to him, as 
they would look at such times; and he would shed bitter 
tears of regret and self-loathing. So to get away from 
such tortures as these, he fell to dropping in, once or 
twice a week at Miss Ward’s. Sometimes, his little girls 
would be there. Eleanor felt that a sacred trust had been 
committed to her, when her dying friend had asked her to 
‘‘remember her little ones,” and she determined to be as 
faithful to them, as it would lie in her power to be. 

Horace, generally, found them in the room Eleanor loved 
most. 

There was something in the perfumed air — a subtilty 
of violets — and in the soft glow of the lights — in the purity 
and simplicity of the adornments; in the chastity of the 
place; and in the presence of the stately and gracious 
woman, who came to meet him with all she felt for him 
in her grand, shadowy eyes, which made it seem to him a 
haven of rest. 

One evening he said to her, 

“Eleanor” — Margaret had gotten to call her so, in 
their intimacy, and he had fallen into it, too — “ do not tax 
yourself to entertain me, I have only come — to forget — to 
rest — at home — you know — ” there was a break in his 
voice — “ she seems ever present, and yet so far — there is no 
rest — no peace, there; it is all a torture.” 

Ah, well she knew the pain — “ever present, and yet so 
far!” Her heart, too, was aching for the presence of a 
beloved one. She had no word of comfort — scarcely less 
great was her own bereavement and longing — St. John 
Angelan had not been there for weeks. Bitter doubts 
were beginning again to assail her. She was so tortured, 
sometimes, that her soul cried out against a consecrated 
life — it was a narrow, selfish, cruel one! Why could he 
not give part of his money, and part of his time? Why? 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


247 


Why — ? This was surely only an idea of his, that he must 
sacrifice his own happiness, and spend his millions for 
those revolting, senseless creatures (her mood was very 
bitter this evening, she felt so potently all that separated 
them) who cared naught for him, when she was dying 
almost for a sight of him, the sound of his voice — when 
she was even losing what faith she had ever had in the 
mercy of God! And if it were not for her girls and 
Christie and Christie’s brother, she might believe that it 
had clean gone from her, forever — that love which made 
her reach out for work where laborers were few.” 0, 
that she might have that feeling back, once more — that 
fervency, that zeal ! 

It was true that her daily work with her girls, the hours 
with them were the purest and most precious ones to her 
of the day; but the ugly, humiliating thought would force 
itself upon her, at times, that she was only doing this to 
keep herself up to Ms standard. The World, that exact- 
ing, yet indulgent mother, that had nourished her and 
pampered her, was now again demanding her own — but a 
something stronger was making the conflict terrible. 

One, two, three years, she had been laboring with 
thoughts like these — three years she had been struggling 
against the beckoning hand, — keeping herself out of the 
tide; keeping herself to the task which sometimes seemed 
imaginary, sometimes seemed real — and what glory was in 
it at such times ! 

These trials had written their tracery on her beautiful 
face. 

As Horace Swayne sat buried in the depths of a luxurious 
chair, he watched with half closed eyes the face revealed 
to him so clearly in the soft radiance of the wax lights 
branching high up in their glittering cups on the table 
beside which she sat. He had been so quiet, and her 


248 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


thoughts were so absorbing, that for the time she had for- 
gotten his presence. 

She was in a large easy chair, too, and her head was 
leaning almost wearily against it. 

She looked every day of her twenty-five ; but that is a 
ripe and gracious age to a woman like Eleanor Ward, and 
the charm of her presence was even greater, now, than when 
that fresh, untried girlishness had sat so royally on her. 

The hair still strayed in childlike tendrils about the shell 
tinted face, but the broad white brow had gathered a 
dignity of thought, and the tender red mouth seemed to 
have gotten, under the touch of a master artist, such lines 
about it, that he who looked might read, firmness, gentle- 
ness, meekness. 

Her figure seemed fuller, stronger, more majestic in its 
pose ; yet the hauteur was gone, and in its stead a tender 
breathing of humility. Her garments were simpler, yet 
still rich. 

She had just come in from some errand of mercy, and a 
gauzy, fieecy thing was still wound about her head and 
shoulders. 

“ What a sweet and gracious woman’* Horace was think- 
ing “she is growing to look like one of those pictured 
saints.” But when she lifted her great, brooding eyes he 
saw in them, the unrest of a soul. 

“Dr. Swayne, is it satisfying? You know — you possess 
it — is it satisfying, this thing called religion?” 

The question almost startled him in its abruptness — and 
he was so rebellious in giving up Margaret that he had 
had no comfort, lately. The question awakened in him 
something like alarm. 

“It ought to be” he answered, scarcely knowing what 
he said, “ it ought to meet all the demands of the hungry 
soul.” 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


249 


‘^But does it? Does it meet all the demands of your 
soul? When your heart is aching — breaking — can you 
feel that it is merciful in Him to let it ache — to let it 
break?” Her eyes were full of a weird light, and she was 
almost panting. 

“St. John Angelan would tell you that ‘He wounds to 
heal’ but oh! Eleanor Ward, I sometimes feel like you 
do. Is it merciful to tear from me my wife and child?” 

The mention of his name, and the words which he 
would have spoken, set her to trembling violently, and 
when Dr. Swayne uttered the blasphemous question she 
held her hand up, imploringly. 

“Don’t! it sounds so differently in those words! Ido 
not think I meant that. I am sure” she went on rapidly 
“ Dr. Angelan would tell us — I have heard him say it — I 
have heard his minister preach it — that sin — that disobe- 
dience brings all the trouble — but it is all so difficult of 
comprehension — all, so unsatisfying” she repeated, wearily. 

And in his unreconciled misery, the other, the professed 
disciple of His, felt this, too — because he looked within 
himself, and would not look to God. 

It was a large, clean looking building. Eleanor Ward’s 
footsteps were light ; she had learned the ways of those long 
rooms, and could find, without a guide, the couch of some 
worn and weary sufferer who longed for rest. — And in the 
soft, low tones that murmured on through some sweet story, 
or tender rhyme ; or sang in hushed melody which was like 
the music of angel harp-strings, the entranced listener would 
find a blissful rest. 

And she knew so well now, where to find the impatient, 
eager sufferer, who longed for country air, and fields, and 
birds, and bees, and fiowers. And in the sound of her ex- 
quisite voice, wandering on through some spring, or sum- 
mer story, the emprisoned one would revel in the radiance 


250 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


and warmth of sunshine, and in the fragrance and bloom 
of flowers, and in the coolness and shade of brookside ways 
— and deep, sweet dells. 

And she knew, too, where to find those who longed for 
a view of the heavenly land; and her sweet, holy voice and 
softly radiant face, opened to their imaginations, ecstatic 
views of saints and angels — and cherubim and seraphim — 
and melody of heavenly music — and the glory of the Light 
that shineth forever and forever — for there shall be no 
night there — and the waters clear as crystal in the city 
whose “ street is pure gold like unto transparent glass,” 
and whose gates are of pearl — and walls are of all manner 
of precious stones — 0, the glory of the reading — and the 
blissful hope that stirs the soul ! 

She knows by the tear>drop in the eye, the trembling of 
the lip, that she is “not burying her talent,” and simple 
as is the manner in which she uses it, she thanks God that 
He has given it to her. 

Yes, this is to her a sweet charity, and one which she 
knows revives the drooping; eases the sutfering; and 
strengthens the inner man of the afflicted saint. 

Dr. Swayne said to her, one evening, “ Eleanor, I have 
come to take you to hear the famous lecturer and divine.” 

Perhaps she might see him there — if Horace was going, 
he might be there, too. 

She had traversed the city in a hired coach — driven in 
remote and squalid parts (and in these wanderings seen 
much of the misery she had never dreamed of) times and 
times unnumbered, with the hope of crossing his path for 
one moment only. She would not have had him meet her, 
face to face, there, for worlds — she would not have had him 
know that she was there in her mad, ungovernable desire 
to see him — pursuing him in such places. But if she got 
a sight of him, it strengthened her for days; for it was 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


251 


always that she crossed him in such paths, where only a 
holy zeal for the Master’s cause could lead. 

It had been so long since he had been to see her — might 
she not get a sight of him, to-night? If only she could 
look in his eyes and have one word from his lips, her 
heart might not ache so. 

The edifice was thronged, packed. But no face that 
her eye could reach wore that nobleness of feature and look 
for which she searched. 

The speaker’s came nearer to it. His whole presence 
reminded her of St. John Angelan; and there was also a 
silver clearness in his tones. 

Their richness brought to her ear words, which at first 
startled and shocked her; then, fascinated, she followed 
every glowing sentence. His arguments were forcible, and 
his sophistry so bewildering that they found themselves, 
both she and Horace, wondering if this might not indeed 
be truth, and that other, which seemed so impossible of 
reality — might not that be all imagination? 

As they were getting out, she almost smiled to herself 
for the thought that he might be there. Not under such 
sounds would he sit, entrancing as they were. 

Some one behind them, said, 

“ A gifted, but dangerous man I should say. Let those 
keep away who do not wish to become entangled in his 
web.” 

Eleanor Ward did not weigh these words till long after. 

A feverish desire seemed to possess her; she went to 
hear him again, and again. And under his spell both 
Horace and she fell into bitter skepticism — which threat- 
ened to overthrow his faith, and to conquer the strength 
which had been urging her on in untrodden fields. 

It seemed to her now, in the face of all of this brilliant 
logic, that she had been for months following an ignis- 


252 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


fatuus — led hither and thither, but never coming nearer 
the light. 

The city is all stirred up with the man’s teaching, from 
centre to circumference. Clerical heads are solemnly shak- 
ing over it — albeit their clerical tongues dispense doctrines 
almost as dangerous. Youthful tongues are glib over it, 
and repeat the brilliant blasphemy as they do the bonmot of 
the day. Desperate characters (gentlemen, in the cut and 
fit, and make up of the times) go back to their gambling, and 
horse-racing, and rioting, and incontinency — and drink to 
the health of the man who speaks comfort to their souls. — He 
does not stand with warning finger and single you out and 
say, “unless ye repent, ye shall surely perish” — oh, no, his 
tongue is silver, and his words are honey — eat, drink 
and be merry — ^when this is done there is rest to the soul! 

But pious mothers warn their households of him; and 
the obedient follower of the Man, who said “ Beware of 
them, for inwardly they are ravening wolves,” turned 
from his siren tongue. 

But Horace was not of this class, and he was trying to 
get away from himself — his thoughts, and his great loneli- 
ness — nor Eleanor Ward, who was only trying to find some- 
thing more comprehensible, more satisfying in which to rest 
her soul. This man made it all so plausible; he had such 
a convincing, earnest way with him. Thousands of years — 
he proved by the lore of science — and he brought in beauti- 
ful descriptions of earth formation, water formation, rock 
formation ; and the placing of the sun, and the moon, in the 
heavens; and the setting of the stars, so thick on the blue 
dome above, and yet, grand worlds, millions of miles apart ; 
their lines of grace and motion ; the nature and duration 
of their seasons; and hundreds of things he brought glow- 
ingly forward, with which to enchant the mind — with 
which to mesmerize one, and make him see as he saw: 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


253 


thousands of years, he proved by this lore, it had taken to 
make this magnificent earth (but an atom in His sight) 
and the millions of worlds in the firmament of heaven ! 

And having upset this truth, that a simple “ Let there 
be” brought it forth in six days, he could easily upset all 
the other impossibilities, which can only be grasped by the 
power of faith in an Omnipotent God. 

For the first time since Eleanor Ward had begun her 
self-imposed work, she felt encumbered and disgusted with 
it. In her mood she had, continually, to wrestle with the 
idea that it was just to keep herself up to Dr. Angelan’s 
standard that she went on with it — that it had only been 
because it was in accordance with his ideas that she had 
begun it. 

But where were all those ecstatic moments when her 
task had seemed to strengthen her, and lift her to a bliss, 
which had never been hers before? The bliss of ‘^helping 
to live” — of dividing the loaf— of clothing, and feeding, 
and ministering? And with all her miserable doubtings 
and fears she could not give it up. It seemed rooted there 
— this desire to do something, to le something to the suffer- 
ing world about her. 

And there was at times, to try her too, a temptation 
to stray back into those entrancing places, which had 
known her once, and were still alluring her — and when 
she had yielded, it was bitter to her, that go where she 
would, it was the same, and yet not the same. The 
same glamour, the same enchantment, but now lurking 
under it, the serpent, sin. She had not known it before — 
her soul rose in revolt, why should she feel it now?— and 
longing — why, oh, why could she not get back the old 
sweet, bewildering days, when all went like a gorgeous, 
ever changing dream? Since she had been going to hear 
the man in whose web she was becoming entangled she 


254 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


did not feel so timid about going to theatres and other 
places of amusement. Something solid seemed to be un- 
der her feet. This beautiful world was made for us to 
enjoy; all the talent, and the luxury, and the wealth 
(this he taught so delightfully) to be enjoyed to its fullest 
— no danger of a lost soul, — 0, no, this God he tells them 
of — his God, is too merciful to doom any of His created 
human beings to everlasting torment. Ah, no ; there is a 
place of oblivion — bliss— beyond, intended for all the chil- 
dren of men ! 

Oblivion! the very thought of it is an opiate — she, 
almost, feels the drug. And this is that glorious city, 
of which St. John in the Isle of Patmos, had that en- 
trancing vision — ah ! well she remembered how she felt when 
she had first heard it read, so long ago. — But a thought 
confronted her, arrested her — this man could not mean 
that holy city, the New Jerusalem, for Dr. Angelan had 
read, and she had read many times since, that into it 
shall in no wise enter anything that defileth, neither 
whatsoever worketh abomination or makethalie.” The 
soft lights in their silver sconces high upon the white 
mantel dickered and wavered and melted — then blazed 
into dazzling brightness. For a little while she could 
scarcely see, then she looked about her in troubled amaze. 
All these, to be blest forevermore? They rose on every 
hand as in a hideous dream — the fearful, and the abomina- 
ble, and the unbelieving, and murderers, and sorcerers, 
and idolaters — and the man himself, beautiful as an angel 
of light and silver tongued, was he not “ making a lie”? 
She moved, turned herself, and the lights dickered and 
melted again, and she was now entering a grand place; 
but when she thought of the reading of the Book, and the 
vision of the Holy City, and heard a rushing in her ears 
as of voices singing Blessed are they that do His com- 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


255 


mandments’' — the people, and the music in the magnificent 
place where she stood, seemed ‘‘sensual, devilish.” 

But it was a sacred piece she was going to witness — this 
performance, and the actors were amateur, and they were 
all church members. 

Her senses were still held in a kind of horror, for the 
place was decorated, and hung, and blazing, with the same 
gaudy splendor that had garnished those other places, 
where the display was for the World — this, for the Saints. 
The same hired musicians drew forth from chords and 
flutes and drums, great swelling anthems, paeans to Jeho- 
vah! (blasphemous times, blasphemous people! she trem- 
bled; her soul took the alarm — oh! blasphemous times, 
blasphemous people!) yes, these, now praise the. Lord of 
hosts, who had last night, and the night before, yes, nights 
on nights, made the very air sensuous with enchanting 
melody, as some villain in the mimic drama of human 
life was stealing a woman’s soul from her. Aye, and in 
the real drama, too — in the vast audience there were thefts 
in process heinous in the sight of Almighty God. 

She shuddered as by the light that was coming to her 
through the Book, she dimly saw these things. But this 
was a sacred piece she was going to witness now, and was it 
not an overstrained conscience which still held her senses 
in this horror of what was to come, even while she talked 
with her friends, before the performance began? 

And now indeed, she sat as one in a hideous dream. She 
wished to be gone, but was held fascinated. She felt as if 
the just punishment of an offended God must fall on her 
for looking on it, listening to it, daring to come to see it. 
Blasphemy, blasphemy! On the stage, one dared to per- 
sonate the holy Man, Christ Jesus; dared to imitate Him 
in the garden, dared to imitate the sweat of blood, dared 
to imitate His prayers, and groanings — dared to wear the 


256 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


crown of thorns, and when scoffed at, to meekly answer — 
dared to ascend the cross, and be nailed, in imitation, to 
the accursed tree! — dared to imitate the agonies of the 
Son of God for lost sinners! — (oh! wicked and adulterous 
generation!) — dared to yield up the ghost, and cry “It is 
finished!'* 0, the daring and blasphemy of this age — of 
this advanced time in the Christian Era ! She felt that she 
would die if she did not get out of it — she felt as if the 
awful punishments of an offended God must fall upon 
her if she did not go away out of it! She whispered hur- 
riedly to her friends — they tried to detain her — they 
stretched their long, lean hands out to grasp her — but she 
eluded them, and flew along lest they should impede her 
way! 

She reached the cool night air. She drew in a deep 
breath of its freshness, and a fervent prayer went up to God 
— “0 Father forgive them, and teach them the sin." 

And she was staring, and rubbing her eyes, and Kitty 
was trying to make her understand that she had fallen 
asleep, on the sofa in the fireglow and was dreaming. 

But it had all seemed so real! And she knew there 
were such things. Her soul was still steeped in the hor- 
ror. She could scarcely make it out. 

After this fevered dream, her spirit seemed to waken 
afresh to her duties. Her girls were so dependent upon 
her and she had not given them all her thoughts when 
with them of late days; she must look to herself, and have 
strength for them. Her soul was ever reaching out in a 
blind way for strength — faith. How she longed, at times, 
for the presence which had always been such a strength 
to her ! 

Her days are so trying. So many callers, so much adu- 
lation, so many society demands; how to steer through it 
all, and keep herself unspotted from the world, was the 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


257 


question that agitated her soul. If she could only ask /its 
advice sometimes, when in a great strait between con- 
science toward God and duty to them — the demands of 
society, which were so clamorous and urgent for her. How 
to be in it, and not of it? How to live in the circle in 
which she had always moved, and not be contaminated by 
it? How to live in it, and not come to its level again? — 
These were the things which made the conflict so great. 
She could only pray, dumbly. 

Years after, she knew that she did pray, and was de- 
livered out it. 

She was at times tempted to go away and shut herself in 
the seclusion of some place, where some noble work might 
occupy her day after day — but the thought would obtrude 
itself, that misery and suffering are nauseous things to 
one born to wealth, and bred in silks and satins. 

And so she struggled on in this inner being, while months 
passed — but outwardly, she was an ardent and gracious 
woman, whose life was a benison to the poor, and whose 
influence was felt potently by many in the stream, which 
threatened to bear her down. By her brave, but sweetly 
courteous resistance, she kept from her halls, sacred to her 
now, such things as she could not believe to be right in 
the sight of Almighty God. 

So the brilliant skeptic’s teaching had only entangled 
and mystifled both Horace and Eleanor. And many more 
were like them. Months after the man had left the city, 
his reasoning still made itself felt by the people. 

Horace and TIleanor brooded over it, and discussed it; 
and in the dangerous proximity of two minds following 
the same channel of thought, and in almost daily inter- 
change of it, and the still more dangerous proximity of a 
young and lovely woman and a still young and ardent 
man, impulsive, loving Horace puts away the thought of 
17 


258 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


his beloved Margaret, who has only been lying out under 
the marble with her babe folded to her breast, a few short 
months, and is enthralled by this queenly creature, who 
seems to look to him with such tender respect and regard. 

He is sure that St. John loves her, but he will never 
stoop from his high and holy calling to family ties which 
might lessen his usefulness — his faithfulness, like Paul’s, 
would forbid. This Horace was sure of, and he reverenced 
him for it. Yes, Horace was sure of this, else how could 
St. John resist what he (Swayne) had seen? 

He could even now, at times, see her face, and hear her 
voice, as she called him “My lover.” Yes, Horace was 
sure St. John’s whole soul was wrapped in his work. In 
the spell of his fascination, Horace had forgotten the burn- 
ing sentence in which he had warned his friend, 

“ Do not walk in my way, St. John, I tell you it is paved 
with fire!” 


CHAPTEK XIX. 


S HE was trembling from head to foot and her heart 
was throbbing painfully. 

That was the sound of his voice, surely ! Ah, yes, 
there is that grand form — and now they are beaming on 
her, shining on her; those eyes, whose mild effulgence 
almost takes her breath. He has both her hands. He can- 
not let them go, nor can she take them from him — it is 
so long since the clasp has thrilled them both. 

Presently, he said, 

I have come to rest — will you let me be perfectly quiet 
here, for a while?’' 

She had been looking in his face, scanniiig it, studying 
it; and she could not answer in words, something had 
risen in her throat. He looked so emaciated, and his eyes 
were so large and full of a strange, unearthly light. 

She had seen him look so before, once, when she had to 
thrust her strong young frame for his support. 

She could only point to a chair; and it chanced to be 
the same position Horace Swayne had occupied the night 
he had studied her face, as she sat in the soft light of the 
wax candles branching high up in the glittering candela- 
brum on the little inlaid table beside her. 

But Dr. Angelan saw, as his soul dwelt on her in his 
eyes, what Horace Swayne had not seen — standing out 
against the rich background of the chair, a wooing, wo- 
manly face leaning toward him, dawn bright of tint, with 
something trembling about the mouth, and on the fringed 
259 


260 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


lids. What could she not sacrifice for him? It was on 
her lip to say, 

“Why must you give up all — all?” when he asked, as if 
to ward off some power that seemed to be almost over- 
whelming him, 

“Eleanor, has the man’s influence worn off yet? I 
had thought better things of you.” 

Slow and- difficult of utterance as was his speech, and 
tender as was his voice, his whole manner stung her. She 
drew herself up, and with an old imperiousness of gesture 
and look, said hotly, 

“ How much do you care what influenee sways me? Ab- 
sorbed, swallowed up in that work, which seems to me, 
would weary and disgust you sometimes, you do not even 
look in to see whether Reggie and I are living, or dead!” 
The old girlishness had broken out. 

He got up, came over and sat down in front of her, and 
his eyes were on her with all their pity and compassion — 
such bowels of compassion, he had for her at times! 

“And is it so bad?” what accents! “I feared as much! 
You have not written to Mrs. Mathers — you have not been 
to our church — you have not been to see Christie — twice, 
in a great while. You are getting back on the tide! 0, 
Eleanor,” there was such deep pain in his voice and in the 
look about the mouth under the incurling mustache, that 
it made her heart-sick “be warned; that man’s sophistries 
lead to destruction.” Then, with a sarcasm keen as steel, 
“Had he learning? 0, yes; and he made it scintillate 
and flash! He made them profound, and intricate, and 
bewildering — those enticing words of man’s wisdom ! Such 
mazes of argument — and how he entangled the intellect of 
this enlightened city with them!” Then, with deeper 
emphasis and as keen irony, he went on, 

“He proved to an intelligent city by the lore of science 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


261 


that it took ages to create this world ; that the process began, 
continued, and completed itself by seconds, and minutes, 
and hours, and days, and years — cycle on cycle of time — 
and not that a ‘Let there be ’ from an Omnipotent God 
called it into existence, day after day — even, in six days/' 
Then, with a suddenness that set her heart to a wild painful- 
ness of throbbing “ What doth blind you, men and women, 
that you should believe the one tiling more possible than 
the other, with this Being who hath made and doth rule — 
the process of ages or the process of days! Which is the 
more mysterious, the more incomprehensible? Did he meas- 
ure God’s power by years, did he limit Him to ages? Oh, 
faithless and ignorant man! Did he quote ‘One day is as 
a thousand’?" His eye glanced lightning, and her face was 
burning with shame. “ Yea, and I tell you, one day is as 
sufficient unto the Lord Almighty as millions and billions 
of days" then he quoted, — and his tones rang into her 
soul, — “Before time was, I am." 

She longed to lay before him her doubts — all her torture 
of those days but she only ventured, with an imploring, 
palliating, earnestness, 

“ But some things in the Bible are so hard to believe. 
Tell me. Dr. Angelan, do you believe everything in this 
book?" laying her trembling hand on the open leaves be- 
side her on the table. 

She had been beguiled by the siren tongue — God grant 
that he might undo the mischief. 

A new life seemed to course through his veins. He 
reared his shoulders grandly, his eyes emitted light — a 
bright glow came above the brown beard, the lips were 
ruby red under the soft incurling boyish mustache; he 
looked years younger than he did when he first entered. 

He reached for the book — he opened it, laying his hand 
reverently between the leaves. He said with enthusiasm, 


262 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


and his words were as fire, devouring every doubt which the 
brilliant skeptic had lifted in her soul, 

This is to me the word of Truth ! I accept this King 
James translation as the word of God in my native tongue. 
If I dared reject one sentence within its lids I should be- 
come skeptical of the whole. If I doubted the proper ren- 
dering of one sentence I should feel that the translation could 
not be depended upon. One sentence deniable, any sen- 
tence deniable — this Book, then, instead of being to me that 
holy thing, the word of God, unalterable, unchangeable, 
would simply be something that I might handle to suit my 
own emergencies and conscience. Ah, no” and his sudden 
vehemence startled her, again, ‘‘ as it stands it is mine — I 
claim it ! as it stands, every word and sentence shall ever be 
to me the Old and the New Testament of my God. He has 
taught me this — how can I deny it? He has taught me 
this — why should I deny it?” Her nerves tingled as with 
an electric shock. Shaking his shoulders grandly, he went 
on: 

‘‘Why should I wish to deny it?” his chest seeming to 
expand and broaden. “ Why should I? If it be true I have 
all things to gain, nothing to lose — if it be not true we are 
as a ship without a rudder — as would be the day without 
the sun, the night without a star. Why will men deny it 
except that they see their own destruction foreshadowed in 
it? 0, friend, go not after him — take the simple faith — 
the unswerving faith that cavils not at this word of God ! 
Believe in its every line and sentence — follow its commands! 
Man may tell you it is fanaticism, — delusion. Blessed fa- 
naticism, blissful delusion ! My soul, bathe thou in these 
— while here — and then!” — There were great tears in St. 
John Angolan’s eyes, and his voice broke like a grand chord 
of music. 

He turned the leaves, found a place, and pressing it open 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


263 


with his hand, began to read, but his tongue was silent. 
Presently he lifted his eyes, and there was a weary, hungry 
look in them. 

Did he make it impossible to you that the sun should 
stand still at the command of one of the Lord’s servants? 
Did he prove it to you by leading, alluring you on through 
a labyrinth of the laws of Science, which only govern na- 
ture, not Omnipotence? Did the impious man dare lift 
himself and contradict the word of God — and perhaps tell 
you, too, that the sun was, and had always stood, still? 
Puny, to me, the reasoning which denies the power of the 
Creator to cause the thing created to do His bidding ; and 
yet unlearned, the knowledge which contradicts the word of 
Truth.” He did not say it, but it must have been in his 
thoughts — “ Feeble the faith that could be moved by such !” 
and a feeling of self-abasement sent a deeper flush of shame 
over the quivering face. 

If he had dared, he would have gathered that burning, 
shining face to his breast. 

“Go not after such, beloved! They come to you in 
sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.” 

“Beloved” — he had used the word dreamily, uncon- 
sciously, even as he had used “ Eleanor” in the old days. 
A sweet tumult arose in her breast at the sound — she put 
her hand up — the old gesture — so well he remembered it — 
her hand on her heart, as if to still its beating. 

The wooing, womanly face with its eager, ardent eyes 
and its trembling half parted lips — oh! what of earthly 
bliss must he put away from himself for the Master’s 
sake! 

He sat silent for a while ; outwardly calm except for the 
restless fire in his eye, and the gnawing of the red under 
lip ; struggling, laboring, to conquer the mad desire to 
claim her, then and there. 


264 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


He buried his face in his hands. Long he remained 
thus. 

When he raised his face it was haggard, but there was in 
it an exaltation of spirit which seemed to place him high 
above any idea of earthly loves, or earthly ties. 

He looked to her, as he had done that day far back in the 
past — a saint — a god. She had taken her gaze slowly from 
his face and she was leaning on her hand, the long dusky 
lashes half hiding the baffled, pursued abeyance, in the 
great dusky eyes under the broad, penciled, dusky brows. 

She, too, was struggling — struggling to subdue the wild 
love and longing that were rebelling against that look on 
his face. Ah, no; he would never make the sacrifice. 

And now I have rested,” the words sounded so mellow 
and sweet. 

“Good-night, and God bless you, Eleanor,” the tones, 
too, were a benediction. 

No, she might never be his, but — he loved her — that grand 
fact remained. And strange, but true, in this moment, 
human love stood back, and in a sweet, uplifted voice she 
murmured, 

“ This is consecration.” 


CHAPTEE XX. 


111 LEANOE, are you never going to marry?'* 

J The question startled her. 

Horace was sitting near her, toying idly with 
the dainty work basket on the table between them. 

Eleanor was sewing in a stately, graceful way ; her hands 
looking fairer and more shapely by contrast with the coarse 
stuffs in them ; the bend of her neck giving to her head a 
statuesque pose. 

She was putting some stitches in for them with her own 
fingers. Her heart was softening toward them, and they 
were dearer to her when she had done things which seemed 
to bring her on a level with them — this work with her own 
hands — this giving of her time and bodily strength for 
them. 

It made her realize that they were naked, and oh, blessed 
knowledge that brought its own reward — she was clothing 
them. All the old horror had gone, and in its stead, a ten- 
der pity — charity — that holy essence “ love thy neighbor as 
thyself* was shedding abroad its precious incense on her 
heart, and through her life. 

But she had not yet found rest for her soul. 

She did not answer Dr. Swayne’s question, at once; she 
had no answer ready — the thought had never confronted 
her, before. She felt herself fiush under his gaze. 

“ Tell me, Eleanor" he went on, laughing a little at her 
discomfiture, or to hide his own, he scarcely knew which. 
They had been much with each other of late, and his ways 
were very free and boyish with her — and he was so lovely.’* 

265 


26G 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


Neither felt that he was doing an audacious thing, when 
he asked, still laughing nervously. 

What did you say to the count this morning, and what 
did you say to the banker last week, and what did you 
say to the senator the week before, and what have you been 
saying to the scores of distinguished devoted ones that have 
been besieging you for years?’' 

Horace had gotten back into his jolly ways again — and 
he looked so young and handsome. To such men age 
comes tardily. His curling hair was blond and boyish and 
so was his mustache, and there was a dimple in his firm 
white chin — clean-shaven and fresh always, now — a scru- 
pulousness of attention to his toilet he had not observed 
during his wife’s lifetime. Eleanor was both proud and 
fond of him — he was so irresistible — and he had been so 
much to her when she had been trying to separate herself 
from that in which she was compelled in a degree to move. 
He would not go into it, and he was such a help and stay 
to her when they had both gotten over that one feverish 
dream of doubt and infidelity. She was smiling; a be- 
witching indulgence on her lip, and in her great, soft eyes. 

‘‘Why should I wish it? I have you and the children, 
and Eeggie — — ” What words are these? Oh, man, why 
do you take such and build upon them? “Why should I 
wish to give myself to some one who might want to rout 
you all?” 

Just at this moment she reached her hand out for some- 
thing in the basket. 

Horace caught and imprisoned it, and with impetuous 
fervor begged her to be his wife. She drew herself back 
as if suddenly hurt. Her eyes had the look of a wounded 
doe. She did not withdraw her hand, but she raised the 
other with an imploring gesture, then let it fall by her side ; 
and as he went on in impassioned pleading, with her hand 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


267 


against his cheek, against his lip, a great sob broke from 
her. 

0, Horace Swayne, why have you done this thing ! I 
thought there was one faithful man — 0, Margaret!” then 
she cried out again, “I thought you loved her, Horace 
Swayne!” 

In an instant Horace was upon his feet, stung to the 
quick, but always generous and noble. Eeadily self-ac- 
cused, he exclaimed, 

deserve it, Eleanor — my wife’s friend!” then, with 
infinite self-disgust, “ Fickle and unstable as the wind — you 
must loathe me! Forget this— I will rid you of my pres- 
ence.” 

She was so stunned that for a moment she could not call 
him back; then she went swiftly to him, and standing be- 
tween him and the door, barred the way. 

‘^Horace, Dr. Swayne, friend, brother!” The words 
were uttered with such beseeching tenderness, “ Come 
back ! Do not desert me ! Loathe you — do not talk so — I 
am devoted to you ! If you leave me in this great wilder- 
ness alone, with no tie back to that time, I shall die,” and 
she fell to weeping as if her heart would break. 

After a while she looked up. Horace was standing near 
her; he was very pale and on his fine, large-featured face 
there was a look of helplessness which appealed to her. 
She said, earnestly, 

‘^Let us never mention this again. I did not dream of 
such a thing. I have no heart to give” eager and excited, 
now ‘^let us forget this! But Dr. Swayne — brother, do 
not desert me.” 

Thus appealed to Horace was for a time silent, and 
things went almost as usual. 

But Horace with his natural irrepressibility came to the 
subject again. 


268 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


Ardent, and longing for companionship, such compan- 
ionship as onl}’- a wife can give; seeing more of the inner 
life of this grand creature than any one else, and feeling 
that there is in her, strength and safety for himself and his 
little children, he forgets that she has not yet taken the 
step which, alone, can give him as a doer of the word” the 
right to urge her to he his wife. 

And knowing, too, that she loves him — not with that 
heartlove — it has been given — that, she said; but she leans 
on him, wants him — this, she told him, too — why may he 
not have her? 

St. John will never leave his self-consecrated sphere, and 
Eleanor Ward is not fitted for such a life, lovely and unself- 
ish as she seems to him now; he remembers how restless 
and eager she was to get away from it all, and how she 
dreaded and feared the poor creatures confined within the 
walls as she herself was. 

And yet at times when he is urging her, he feels scarcely 
less than a traitor. Have her he must, though, if that be 
possible. And now too, he notices a great and growing 
change in her. It dismays him. She has grown listless, 
and there is a restless, uneasy light in her great, weary 
eyes. Then, a deep gloom seems to settle on her. 

She tries to shake it off — bravely, as she does everything 
— he sees her efforts and would aid her, but does not know 
how to deal with her trouble; she does not confide in him. 

He can only tenderly and persistently urge her to give him 
the right to share all her sorrows, and shield her with his 
life’s blood if need be. 

He is so dear to her, and the little children whom he so 
often mentions, in appealing to her — and their mother’s 
desire to have them as much as possible under her infiuence 
— the little girls are so dear to her — how can she deny him, 
again? He has urged it in such ways, 'why should they 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


269 


walk apart? They might be a strength to each other — and 
the children, what nobler task than the rearing of these 
with Keggie? 

And that other blessed thought — that dream of bliss, 
which was now so far from any hope of fruition — let that 
go! 

So she yields to Horace’s entreaties; but the gloom 
seems more than ever to enshroud her. She cannot shake 
it from her, and she cannot confide it to Horace. He loves 
her so, and there is such a buoyancy of manhood about him 
that she cannot find the heart to tell him of it; the words 
die on her lips when she would tell him of the dread, the 
great weight that is upon her. 

It does not seem to be the outcome of her promise to 
Horace ; it was encompassing her before she gave that, and 
she had had for weeks a longing desire for deliverance from 
she knew not what. She cried for peace — hope — rest for 
the soul ! 

And her lover, since she has promised to be his, has the 
self-accused feeling, “traitor, traitor,” always with him. 

He cannot when he is with her, and her soft hand is lying 
along the arm of her chair — as lovers do — as he had done 
the morning his passion had first burst forth, take it, and 
press it to his lips and cheek. 

No; a face rose up between them, to accuse him of un- 
faithfulness. And it was not the face of Margaret, his 
dead wife; it was the face of St. John Angelan, his living 
friend. 

It rose up so vividly before him one day (he had just left 
his friend and his face haunted him) that without knowing 
what he was going to say, he uttered in an undertone of 
horror, 

“It looks so thin and unearthly!” 

“What do you mean?” she asked, breathlessly. 


270 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


He answered, flushing hotly, 

"‘I was just thinking of St. John — he is looking so 
strangely, again; just as he did’' — he hesitated, just as I 
saw him, once. I cannot approach him ; it seems sacrilege. ” 

He was frightened at the effect of his words. 

Every vestige of color left her face; she fell to trembling 
and sobbing as if her heart would break. And Horace 
Swayne had no words with which to soothe her — in his 
soul was such a bitter feeling of infidelity and unworthi- 
ness. 

And now she is wretched, and miserable, and undone. 
This love which she had thought might be a comfort, a 
stay, ‘‘ a great rock in aweary land” — it did not satisfy her. 

Is there a God of mercy? Has He deliverance for the 
wretched? She is cowering almost in the dust — on her 
knees, praying, beseeching — and “ with groanings that can- 
not be uttered” — to know if it is for her — rest — hope? 

AVhen a something sweet and strange struggles up out 
of all the misery, and she finds herself lifting up holy 
hands, repeating in an ecstatic way, 

‘‘Deliverance! deliverance! the captive free! Hope — 
joy — peace!” 

When Horace Swayne came that evening to see his be- 
trothed, she seemed as far removed from him as the stars in 
the night sky outside. 

She talked as he had never heard her talk before, though 
he had longed for it, listened for it, his conscience de- 
manding it. Now that it was on her lips — this praise of 
the Most High God — this confidence in His love and power 
— this entire self-abnegation ; the victory all, all His ; sal- 
vation through Him, the glorious One, the Eedeemer 

My Eedeemer! 0, Horace Swayne, you have felt it — 
this heavenly peace — is there anything to be compared to 
it?” 


A LATTHJB DAY SAINT. 


271 


But human love and spiritual coldness made this rejoic- 
ing a bitter thing to him; and a kind of despair seized him, 
and something within him was crying “ she is not mine, 
this removes her out of my reach. ” And words of St. John 
came back to confront him there — Not yet, I can wait 
until I can claim her with God’s blessing.” 

And he wept scalding tears. 

She was soothing him, stroking his hand with her soft, 
slim fingers; but her touch only goaded him. 

“ Look up, Horace, dear one, this is no time for tears, it 
is the hour for praise — joy — song!” 

Then suddenly, she exclaimed “ Oh ! now I can be to you, 
and to yours what I ought to be! Eejoice with me! 
strength — deliverance !” 

But there was a seraphic something in her face, that re- 
moved her still further from him. 


CHAPTEE XXI. 


S HE could not stay away from them, the two whom she 
revered above all others on earth — Mrs. Mathers and 
St. John Angelan; they must know that the glad 
tidings “ Peace on earth, good will toward men” had now, 
indeed, come into her soul. 

She had never been there since that morning, long ago, 
when they had parted in that room so filled with memo- 
ries. The sights and sounds, and the thought of what is 
deeper still, in there, do not dismay her now. Her heart 
is overfiowing, and going out to all of God’s creatures. 

“ Poor things ! poor things !” she murmured and repeated, 
as they thronged her, and she poured them about them — 
the rare exotics she had gathered for them with her own 
hands, singing a sweet Psalm the while. 

Mrs. Mathers took the sweet face to her bosom. She saw 
what was there, before Eleanor had said, 

‘‘ 0 Mrs. Mathers, beloved, T have found it — thank Him 
for me — peace, with God!” Then eagerly, rapturously, 
“ Let me go there 1 I want to kneel in the very spot, where 
I first began to read God’s holy word, and thank Him for 
His unspeakable gift — Christ in me, the hope of glory!” 

Mrs. Mathers led the way, Eleanor talking as they went 
in a low, ecstatic way. 

Mrs. Mathers opened the door. Eleanor Ward’s face 
was blazing with a splendid joy. 

On the threshold she paused, and great tears gathered in 
her radiant eyes. 


272 


A LATTER DAY SAINT, 


273 


There was a chill air; a damp, faint odor, as of long- 
closed apartments. 

Mrs. Mathers turned away, she could not follow. Noth- 
ing was changed. 

The large, beautiful painting, the one handsome adorn- 
ment of the room, still hung over the mantel — but the 
spider, left to herself had woven, and woven again, her 
gauze-like tracery about the garnished frame, and the dust 
hung heavy in long shreds of tattered meshes. 

And here is Eeggie’s picture on the easel by the window, 
just where she had left it that day so long ago— the face 
looks almost like a living thing as it peers through its film 
of dust; and here, too, the spider has swung her fragile sil- 
ver ropes. Across the western window are wheel on wheel, 
and countless bars of wonderful mechanism ; and slipping 
and swinging along its circumference, the builder is ever 
making it wider in an invisible, inscrutable way. 

Above the bliss of the moment, she studies with a vague 
wondering interest this one of God’s creatures, taught, 
swayed, and governed, alone, by Him. How perfect its work ! 

And now her eyes fall on the little dish of withered violets. 
In its shallow bowl no longer water, but dry and brown 
with stain, holding only a little heap of dead, gray ashes. 

And beside it her Bible! 

‘‘ 0, Book of books,” she said as she sank by her chair, in 
which she had sat so often, reading those pages, discon- 
tentedly, skeptically, wearily ; and the old Eleanor loomed 
up before her, where in all your lids is that glorious sen- 
tence ‘Though your sins be as scarlet, I will make them 
as wool?’” 

“ Let me find them for you, Eleanor.” The melody did 
not startle her — it was as if she had lived in his presence 
ever since this blissful change had come to her. 

She lifted herself, made a step toward him ; then stood 
18 


274 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


with a radiance in her eyes and a rapture on her lip, and 
cried in a sweet, clear, high voice as if she longed to pro- 
claim it to him, 

I have found it! the pearl of great price! — but, yester- 
day ! Deliverance — hope !’' There was a thrilling rapture 
in her tones. 

His look lit. 

‘‘ At what hour?” he asked, as his voice took up the 
note. 

“ About noon, just as the sun was in all of his midday 
splendor. I was wretched — and in midnight darkness — 
and I was praying — and in a moment it was gone — the 
blackness of midnight was gone, and I was in the Light! 
even light like the day that was shining about me” — her 
voice broke in glad tears. 

St. John Angelan was standing with his arms outstretched 
toward her, — his face emaciated and pale, — but his eyes 
burning, shining, with both human and holy love. 

His voice had the notes in it of a grand thanksgiving 
pasan, 

“ Eleanor, your husband had been praying for you, for 
days — but at noon, on yesterday, he ceased! Come, be- 
loved, you are mine, now; mine with God’s blessing, to 
have and to hold, until death do part us.” 

His words, and tones, and looks appalled her ! The gulf 
between them ! 

“Too late! Too late!” the words formed on her lips, 
but made no sound. 

“ Come, my beloved,” an ardent impatience in his man- 
ner that almost drew her forward “ life is so short — and I 
have waited — and I am so weary with my waiting. I have 
wanted you so” — the words touched every sweet chord in 
her soul — “ the Lord has now opened the way” his arms 
were still outstretched and there was a passionate sweetness 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


275 


on his lips as the words I have wanted you so'' moved on 
them. She stood as one fascinated; and gradually her 
face became like the dawn. 

His eyes burned, and his tongue was loosed, 

“ Do you know, my beloved, what it has been to me — 
this renunciation of you, when my soul clave to you? Ah, 
no, none but my God will ever know that. I dared not 
claim you — ‘only in the Lord’ is one of His servants per- 
mitted to claim his bride. I bided my time. I waited on 
the Lord. I fasted and prayed for your soul even as I had 
fasted and prayed for you at another time, and the result 
is the same, even the power of God through faith in His 
name! Now, come, my wife, with His sanction I claim 
you." 

A wild enthusiasm rose in her whole being — she lost 
everything — but that he loved her, and that he said she was 
his ! And that he was bidding her come in his masterful 
way — wooing her in the name of the Lord I He had ad- 
vanced slowly to her, and it was not alone the power of the 
love that was impelling him, but something in her which 
gave the impetus to an eager, rapturous movement, and 
made him catch her hands to his breast, and lift them to 
his lips — those warm, moist, bearded lips! Appalled 
again she caught her hands from him, but she could not 
move from his side. 

She could never break with Horace ! Too late ! too late ! 

Dr. Angelan was beginning to feel the chill of her de- 
spair, as almost in heart-broken tones she repeated, 

“Too late! too late!" 

“ Ab, not too late., beloved ones!" The sepulchral tones 
almost made Eleanor cry out, and Dr. Angelan looked to 
the door in dismayed surprise. 

Dr. Swayne was standing in the doorway, his face ashen 
white but with eyes resplendent to behold! 


276 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


‘^ISTo” lie repeated, though huskily thank God not too 
late! I came to find you St. John; I have been looking 
for you 1 I wanted to tell you — out of pity she did it — 
out of the graciousness of her heart for me and mine, she 
promised to be my wife. But since the moment she told 
me what she has doubtless told you, I have felt as poor 
Irish Teddy expressed it — as if — I were — ” there was a 
ghastly smile on his lip, as he tried to make the jest — 
they knew what it was — thaving a men’s property’' — but 
he could not say it. A moment or so, his lip quivered, and 
then he went on in a high, strong, generous way, 

“She is yours St. John! I could never hope for such 
earthly bliss. You who have walked in His ways must 
have it. God forever bless j^ou both!” 

“0, Horace Swayne! how grand of you, brother!” she 
was rapturously kissing his hand, bathing it with her tears, 
almost on her knees before him — “ what shall I say to you?” 

Two or three scalding drops fell on her head, as he an- 
swered, 

“ Eejoice with me that I have been enabled to do one 
really noble thing in all my undisciplined, misspent life,” 
and as he felt the touch of St. John’s hand — tender as a 
woman’s — on his shoulder, he added, “ and above the hu- 
man smarting — aching — I can say, this sacrifice for my be- 
loved ones, is sweet to the soul.” 


CONCLUSION. 


E LEANOE still had some misgivings as to herself, and 
the future; hut St. John would not listen to longer 
waiting; and whatever might be there — in that 
strange sphere “ Consecrated Life,” she was willing, like the 
love-eyed Moabites to face it all, her heart bearing her wit- 
ness ‘‘ Where thou gocst, I will go — thy people shall be my 
people, thy God, my God.” 

And in the solemn stillness of the early Sabbath morn- 
ing, out under the wide heavens, that servant of the Most 
High God, St. John Angelan, had the blessedness to see 
his beloved baptized. In simple robes, a bride adorned for 
her husband — espoused unto Christ. And as she ‘^came 
up straightway out of the water” she looked like a rain- 
drenehed flower ; but somewhat of the light which abode 
upon Him irradiated her matchless face. 

As Horace Swayne looked on the face of St. John An- 
gelan, upon which he saw the same light — he could not 
trust himself to look long on that other, coming up out of 
the water — he thought triumphantly, albeit in bitterness 
of soul, 

‘‘How the Lord honors His obedient servant!” 

A few hours later, a bride adorned for her earthly hus- 
band — oh ! freshly washed, rare and fair — stands in a sol- 
emn assembly, and promises to “ love, honor, and obey him.” 

And on the morrow there was a feast at the Nazarene, 
and hundreds went away full, who had never in a lifetime 
before, tasted such dainties. 

277 


278 


A LATTER DAY SAINT 


It was not long before St. John and his ‘^lovely lady” — 
this, they all called her now — had a letter, unique, and 
characteristic, which touched both their hearts deeply. It 
was from Algernon Hastings, and it ran thus, 

“ As I read the home papers I see the announcement of 
your marriage to Eleanor Ward. A generous impulse seizes 
me. I would add one more satisfaction to your bliss of 
the moment. Dr. Angelan, that woman was to me what 
no other woman on the earth could be. My pride centred 
in her, and Avhat little soul I ever possessed was hers. But 
this morning I am grateful that you possess her. You 
alone are worthy of her, she alone is worthy of you. Say 
to her from me, that her husband is the one man who has 
made one unworthy to be called, man^ believe that there is 
such a creature on earth as a man after the pattern of the 
Man, Jesus, who lived here nearly two thousand years ago.” 

Eleanor in her own happiness was not unmindful of 
Kitty, who had been a widow two years, Alonza having 
been dashed against a lamp-post, in a runaway accident, 
and instantly killed. 

It was plain to be seen that the pretty young widow 
would fain seek comfort in her first love; and her sighs 
and heartaches at his studious avoidance of her, attested 
that she had never really cared for any one else. 

Eleanor seeing somewhat of all this and filled with sym- 
pathy, urged upon Teddy what she thought would make 
the happiness of two lives. 

‘‘ Teddy, you are surely not going to be an old bachelor, 
when Kitty can be had for the asking?” 

‘^Och, now, Misthress Ongelan, mee owen bee-utiful 
leddy, wad ye be afther timpting mee? Ond sthure, ye 
connot knowe whot is in heere,” laying his hand on his 
breast with a seriousness almost comical ; then with a deep 
sigh, rolling his little watery eyes, and speaking solemnly. 


A LATTER DAY SAINT. 


279 


‘^nough, noiigli, mee beeautefiil Misthress Ongelan, it is 
best os it stonds. The by’e, ye moind/’ with wise shakings 
of the head ‘‘ the pnrty leetle spalpeen — Oi wad hev to be 
afther bating him, ivery daye or sough — the innercent lee- 
tle bight — seein’ his owun f’yther hod cam a thavin’ mee 
property, ond — ond chating mee out av mee woife. Och ! 
ond shure its in mee bones yit,’' he drew his rough red 
hand across his unshaven chin reflectively ^^yis, yis, Oi 
wad hev to be afther belaborin’ Ms flaish ond blood foer — 
ye moight saye, jist noothing ot oil, ot oil — ond — ond thot 
wad be gaving the poorr girrul throuble oopon th rouble, ye 
knowe,” and with a patient shake of the head, and a sol- 
emn decision of manner that almost brought tears into 
Eleanor’s eyes, he ended ^‘yis, Misthress Ongelan, mee 
beeauteful leddy, ond mee ownn dear docther’s woife, it is 
bist os it stonds.” 

The proof of love is sacrifice. 

Though she could but dimly divine it, Eleanor felt that 
Horace Swayne had made scarcely more of a sacrifice for 
the two he loved so devotedly, than did this poor Irish 
Teddy for the innercent leetle spalpeen” and its much 
beloved, but deservedly widowed mother. 


THE END. 



A SELECTION FROM 


Fleming H. Revell Company’s 


CATALOGUE 



SECOND EDITION, MORE FULLY ILLUSTRATED. 


Kin=da=shon’s Wife. 

AJV ALASKAN STORY. 

BY MRS. EUGENE S. WILLARD, 

Home Missionary to Alaska of the Presbyterian Board. 

jatno. Illustrated. Cloth. $1.50 


“ Being a close observer and in deep sympathy with the 
native population in their struggles towards a Christian Civil- 
ization, Mrs. Willard has gained a more intelligent knowl- 
edge of their character, of their needs and hindrances, than 
perhaps any other person ; so that when a distinguished 
Committee of United States Senators visited Alaska to in- 
quire into the condition of the natives, she was applied to 
for a paper on the subject, and her paper on ‘ Needed legis- 
lation for the protection of Native Children,’ was the most 
discriminating, faithful and able one received.”— Sheldon 
Jackson. 


PRESS NOTICES. 

The Living Church : 

” The revelations of the idolatry and customs of the abori- 
gines are unique, and therefore, especially entertaining to the 
student of human nature.” 

The Congregationalist : 

” Possesses permanent value as a faithful and comprehensive 
portrayal of the social and moral condition of the natives, and 
describes them picturesquely, both as they are and as they 
have been.” 

The New York Observer : 

“The longing of famished souls for the bread of life is told 
with pathos, and prominence is given to the success of mission- 
ary work rather than to its terrible isolation and varied trials.” 

The Christian Inquirer: 

” A vivid picture of life in Alaska. The story is an interest- 
ing one, and should prove an incentive to help forward the 
evangelization of that Territory.” 

Public Opinion : 

” From beginning to end the book holds one’s closest atten- 
tion. Interesting as a story as well as*in the facts presented.” 

The Christian Intelligencer : 

“The story is pathetic and powerful, because true. If it but 
arouse the country and the Church to the call of duty and of 
God, it well accomplish a glorious mission.” 

For sale by all Booksellers^ or sent^ Jost^aidy on receipt of 

pricey by the publishers. 

Fleming H. Revell Company. 

New York; 112 Fifth Avenue. 

Chicago : 148 & 150 Madison Street. 


^velyn j^verett- (jreen’s 
5tories. 

“Evelyn Everett-Green -writes decidedly entertaining 
books.” — The Congregationalist^ 

OLD MISS AUDREY. 

A Chronicle of a Quiet Village. The Oak Leaf 
Series, Illustrated, 319 pages, 8vo, cloth. . .$1.50 
“Well written, fresh, wholesome, sufficiently tinged with 
sentiment to give it a pleasant hue, yet withal, practical 
enough to leave a good taste behind.”— New York 
Observer, 

“Not a cry of remorse groans forth, not a ghost walks. 
It is a simple chronicle of a country village. Yet it records 
some very attractive happenings, and spins a fascinating 
plot.” — The Watchman. 

NAMESAKES. 

A Story of a Secret. The Oak Leaf Series, Illus- 
trated, 412 pages, 8vo, cloth 1.50 

A very interesting narrative, turning upon the dis- 
appearance and subsequent disinheritance of an elder son, 
and his return after his brother’s elder son, his namesake, had 
come into possession of the property. 

FIR-TREE FARM. 

Illustrated, 352 pages, 8vo, cloth 2.50 

“ A strong, inspiring book, and will give many a reader 
an impulse toward right living.” — The Christian at Work, 

LENORE ANNANDALE’S STORY. 

Illustrated, 252 pages, i2mo, cloth 1.75 

THE PERCIVALS; 

Or, a Houseful of Girls. Illustrated, i2mo, 

cloth 1.75 

DICK WHISTLER’S TRAMP. 

Illustrated, 160 pages, i2mo, cloth 75 

MR. HATHERLY’S BOYS. 

Illustrated, 128 pages, i6mo, cloth 50 


New York. FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY. Chicago. 


Books for Young Men. 

Uniform in style and price ^ i2mo cloth^ eack^o cts. 


Thoroughness. Talks to Young Men. By 
Rev. Thain Davidson, D.D. 

Contents ; — Heartiness, Prosperity and Presumption, 
Quiet Meditation, Chums, Fools I have Met, Hasting to 
Die Rich, As the Man so is his Strength, The Divine 
Plumb-line, A Notable Eleven, The Compendium of Chris- 
tian Duty, Keeping the Heart with Diligence, The Com- 
plete Life, The Bow of Promise. 

Moral Muscle and How to Use It. A Brother- 
ly Chat with Young Men. By Frederick 
A. Atkins. 

It looks the facts of younpf men’s lives full in the face, 
and proclaims the gospel of industry, perseverance, self- 
control, and manly Christianity.” — St. Andrew's Cross, 

First Battles and How to Fight Them. Some 
Friendly Chats with Young Men. By Fred- 
erick A, Atkins. 

” It is true in its substance, attractive in its style, and 
admirable in its spirit. I heartily commend this little 
volume.” — Rev. John Hall, D.D. 

Brave and True. Talks to Young Men. By 
Rev. Thain Davidson, D.D. 

“A short series of plain, wholesome, spiritually and tem- 
porally elevating talks to young men.”— 7’^^ Congrega- 
tionalist. 

The Spiritual Athlete and How He Trains. 

By W. A. Bodell. Introduction by Rev. B. 
Fay Mills. 

“ Its power and value lie in the consistent carrying out 
of the comparison between physical and spiritual training.” 
— The Independent. 

Turn Over a New Leaf, and Other Words to 
Young People at School. By B. B. Comegys. 
“The Author makes the subject fascinating and there 
are thousands just now who should turn over the leaf.”— 
The Western Christian Advocate. 


Fleming H. Revell Company. 


NEW AND CHEAPES EDITION ILLUSTEATED. 


JOHN G. PATON, 

MISSIONARY TO THE NEW HEBRIDES. 

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

EDITED BY HIS BROTHER. 

With an Introduction by ARTHUR T. PIERSON, D.D, 
Two vols, in box, i2mo, cloth, gilt top net $2.00. 


/Ibfnfsterial Commcnbatfon. 

** I have just laid down the most robust and the most 
fascinating piece of autobiography that I have met 
with in many a day. . . . John G. Pa ton was made 
of the same stuff with Theodore L. 

Cuyler^ D.D. 

“ I consider it unsurpassed in missionary biography. 
In the whole course of my extensive reading on these 
topics, a more stimulating, inspiring, and every way 
first-class book has not fallen into my hands. Every- 
body ought to read it .” — Arthur T, Pierson^ D.D. 

fibfsafonarig prafec. 

“ I have never read a romance that was half so 
thrilling.” — Lucius C. Smithy Guanajuato.^ Mexico. 

“ I have ne’^er read a more inspiring biography.” — 
Thomas C. Winn.^ Yokohama.^Japan. ^ 

“ The Lord’s work will not go back while there are 
such men as he in the cMmQMj'^James A. Healy Sin^ 
Kong-^ Cheh Kiang, China. 

“I think I have never had greater pleasure in read- 
ing any book.” — R. Thackswell^ Dehra^ North India, 

^>rcs0 IRotfccs. 

“ Perhaps the most important addition for many 
years to the library of missionary literature is the auto- 
biography of John G. Paton.” — The Christian Advocate, 

“We commend to all who would advance the causa 
of Foreign Missions this remarkable autobiography. 
It stands with such books as those Dr. Livingstone 
gave the world, and shows to men that the heroes of 
the cross are not merely to be sought in past ages.” 
— The Christian Intelligencer, 


Fleming H. Revell Company, 

^EW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO 


4 





f 


t 




/ 




I 



/ 







/ 


A. . 


\ 



t 





r 






«*» 


% 




« 


% 


y 


9 


» 


* 


1 


/ 


* 


4 





< 









V 


\ 



« 

I 


'\ 




1 


4 


X 


/ 


4 


, » , ' • ^-' 



,* 


























